


Something of Significance

by YesBothWays



Series: Xena and Gabrielle Forever [4]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Feminist Themes, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Sexual Content, World War II, Xena Scrolls, yes both ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesBothWays/pseuds/YesBothWays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new addition to the fanfic surrounding "The Xena Scrolls."  Mel and Cov have a queer, feminist friendship that causes them both to grow, then they have beautiful sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> (If impatient for the sex, just skip to chapter five).
> 
> I didn't like "The Xena Scrolls" even when I first saw it as a kid, even though Lucy was super cute as Mel. Many brilliant fanfic writers have since spun that straw into gold. I was surprised so many stories depicted Janice Covington's sexuality as more or less the same. The Xenaverse usually subverts itself regularly. So I wrote this story. My best friend can't abide by the name Janice, so I fixed it. Introducing Melcov – something a little new for the Mel and Janice archive, I hope. It does not have: Janice as a heavy drinker or promiscuous and emotionally inaccessible, heavy romantic myth-ery, or Nazis (unlike some great stories). It does have: friendship, feminist awakening, and a fair amount of sex between our two ladies. I tried to reverse the dynamics of Xena and Gabrielle with as much subtly and depth as I could, because I think that's what they were going for with the episode, and I find that really interesting. I'm used to writing fantasy and not historical fiction; my excuse for exploiting details that are probably anachronistic has been and shall remain – Xenaverse.

They had been working together for six solid months now with no gunshots.  Melinda Pappas kept track of this in her journal with little monthly calendars she handwrote and, each day, marked with a tiny and precise "x." There was only one box left after the one she had just crossed off. 

            "Look," Mel said, holding the book up to her partner on the dig, Doctor Janice Covington.  "That's a full half a year." 

            "If we make it through tomorrow we'll be in the clear," Covington said, rubbing at the grit in her eyes with a smile.  Her eyes were red, Mel could see.  Covington rubbed her eyebrow, and her face flickered at the tickle of sand that fell down her cheek. She was covered head to toe with a layer of dust just like the end of everyday.  She tipped back a large glass of water with a small douse of whiskey in it and downed the whole thing in one fluid drink.  She made a smack and touched the back of her wrist to her lips. Then she began to untie the kerchief around her neck, as she prepared to drag off her clothes and wash, so she could climb onto her bunk for the evening.  Mel watched the familiar sight wondering if it was the last time she would ever see it.  The thought gave her pause. 

            They were at the end of their work on this dig, a small site just outside of Athens where the vestiges of a Greek temple had been found.  The heart of this find was a cabinet that housed a small library of crumbled documents and scrolls.  They'd finished the excavation project, and Mel had catalogued each written artifact they found, providing a rough preliminary interpretation of each text. She had been given full discretion to distribute the artifacts at will to scholars at various universities and institutions worldwide, with the caveat that they would all eventually return to the possession of her employer, a select branch of the New York state museums known for their strict non-profit standards and generous collaborative efforts such as this.  That is to say, as Mel described the reason for her employer's unique reputation to Covington with great simplicity, they were not corrupt. 

            Mel had been with the same employer since she left school. She had climbed the ranks, but she had never had more executive power on a job in the field than this one. It was because of Mel that Covington had been hired on as the site leader on their crew.  She'd been in contact with her employer by phone and wire and announced to Covington that she had them a new gig. Covington gave a funny sort of smirk. 

            "Don't you think they're going to question that decision?" she asked skeptically. The name Covington carried heavy stigma.  As one colleague made clear to Mel early on, before she sought Covington out, the Covingtons were _dangerous_.   In the know now, Mel could not quite disagree. Covington was a different kind of safe for Mel. 

            "I'm not going to tell them your name," Mel had said, pressing her glasses at the rim in a manner just a tad superior.  Covington smiled.  She'd never have guessed upon meeting her that Mel was so successful at business. No one ever guessed how hard Mel worked or how well Mel could maneuver a situation in her favor when she wanted something.  Covington loved this side of Mel and also loved how hidden it was.  She always pointed it out when it surfaced. This would usually elicit a recital of one of Mel's favorite phrases, "I wasn't born yesterday," that would come with a stern, neutral stare.  On this dig, Mel had sent in her site reports and left out names, and no one ever asked.  It was simple. 

            It took several occurrences and a slight pause after each time Mel addressed her as "Jan" for Covington to say something.  Mel had only heard anyone else call her Covington or Doctor Covington, save the local men she hired for the dig who insisted on calling her Doc.  It seemed a synonym for site leader rather than a nickname.  They'd been employed by a few scholars throughout their lives, none of whom they wished to distinguish from the others.  They were riding in Covington's truck, and Mel remembered how she scratched her neck and turned took look out the side window just a moment before she spoke. 

            "Call me Cov," she said to Mel.  "That's what my friends call me.  I don't really go by my first name."

            Mel wondered at the time why it had taken Cov so many days to say correct her name.  She was obviously forward, even wildly bold.  Mel had theorized at the time that the matter felt intimate to Cov for some reason. As they became closer friends, slowly, over the course of their strange journey, her original assumption was confirmed.  She'd never met anyone more paradoxical than Cov, and the first contradiction she noticed was how simultaneously open and private she could be.  Her air of mystery never bothered Mel, as she'd inherited a good dose of keeping to herself as a southerner.  But it took her a while to put together an idea of Cov, of who she was.  She had never met anyone like Cov before.  Now, Mel owed Cov her life.  And she would trust her with it again, easily.  Truth be told, she had never trusted anyone more.  

            Sharing this job, however, was hardly a favor, Mel found.  Cov was an excellent site leader.  She had extensive experience – some of it shady, as Cov liked to note.  Mel thought this only added to her abilities.  How many site managers knew how to get the right amount of beer delivered with the week's food supply to please the whole crew without getting them drunk, how to punch a man out cold, or even how to do most of the real work themselves?   She hired on families, couples and their children, and gave each member a job.  Even the single men seemed to like it, having women and children around.  Their lives were often disrupted by work, Mel figured, and it made it easier on everyone to have a real life set up in the camp.  Cov had a level of respect for her crew and each job that was lacking in most.  This, in return, gained her a level of respect and trust that carried over to Mel. She focused on her part of the work and left everyone else alone.  Working with Cov made life on the dig easy. 

            She felt she'd seen a new side of Cov watching her as a leader. Mel remembered back to their first week when their backhoe arrived.  One of the men climbed in and started it up.  Cov stood watching closely, eyes so sharp they appeared to Mel capable of piercing the metal cab.  When he started to excavate a major part of the dig, he first clipped an ancient wall.  Mel saw Cov's brows tighten and her jaw tense.  She just stood and watched silently.  Then shortly after, even Mel saw, he began to tip the machine. 

            "Stop!" Cov yelled over the engine in a tone Mel felt could halt the weather.

            Cov darted to the cab, her body language giving every impression she might drag him out bodily, as she opened the door.  They exchanged brief words.  He jumped down.  Cov climbed up into the seat. 

            Mel could not imagine what Covington said to him, but he stood watching with the other men, seemingly unashamed as Cov went on with the excavation. Cov manned the backhoe herself for the next thirteen days until they finished the major earth removal. And from what Mel could tell, she never spoke to the man about the matter again.  Mel would have figured Cov, or any manager on an archeological dig, would have lost their temper the moment he damaged the wall. Even she would have felt no sympathy for the man if Cov had thrown him off the site after nearly upturning the machine.  Cov just took the job over and left him alone.  Life was not an emergency for Covington, unless someone was really about to die. Perhaps not even then, Mel thought.  Mel had to marvel at Cov's grit, on every front. 

            Mel had gotten a chance to earn her own salt after some political strife in the local district drew off about a third of their crew.  Cov let them go without complaint and wired in to New York for their wages, which she delivered to them in person, taking off in her truck for a day.  She had some news about what was going on, though Mel had no idea how. 

            "They got more important things to do," Cov offered as the only explanation.  Mel could remember staring at her, wondering what a woman who worked almost every waking hour and committed the vast majority of her life (and some nights in jail) to archeology would so casually deem more important than her own life's work. Understaffed as they were, Cov was working even longer hours and wearing down quick.  Mel had nothing to do at the time, save managing paperwork and wiring the office.  Mel offered her help, a bit worried, to be honest, that Cov would laugh at her.

            "Sure," Cov said, obviously pleased and surprised by Mel's offer. "You're welcome to any work you want.  We got plenty." She lifted her arms to stretch her back in an almost cartoon fashion.  "You'll want to start slow, though, especially if you want to work every day.  I wouldn’t do more than a couple hours the first time."  She slumped into her cot and turned on her side and was asleep in moments.

            Cov was right about building up to the work, though the muscle soreness faded out after only two weeks time.  Much more problematic were the blisters than formed on her hands after the first day.  They were going to be real trouble, opening up each day.  She understood now why Cov carried a thick pair of work gloves everywhere, unconsciously touching her pocket to feel they were there, as Mel did with her glasses when she had them off.  Mel got her a ride into town and searched every shop she could think to try until she found leather gloves thick enough to tolerate the work. They had four pair in stock in colors that ranged from cream to darker browns to a reddish, dark brown. She bought them all. By the end of their stint on the dig, she'd worn through two and part-way through a third.  She had used them from the lightest to the darkest shade and carried out the reddish ones after the dig, a detail that would remain in her mind for years. 

            Now, at the end of their allotted time, the work was inexplicably complete, leaving Mel to ponder the insight of Cov's strange management. Mel felt deeply proud of their work and the part she herself had played in it.  She realized she would miss it.  She had never felt stronger in her life and hadn't felt this fit since she was in college.  She had not played any sports since then and had a highly academic work-life. She swam and walked, but those were leisure activities.  This was real work, part of her real life.  She could stretch out her arms to her sides and feel power of her own body. She socked Cov on the arm one day, and Cov over-dramatically toppled over onto her side. 

            "Ooooow," she let out as she fell over. 

            "Oh, come on," Mel said.  Cov was rubbing her arm. 

            "Seriously, I give!" she said.  "You hit like an iron worker."  Despite having no mental image of an iron worker to conjure into her mind, Mel felt smug. 

            "It's my warrior ancestry," Mel joked, pressing the bridge of her glasses, quite prim. 

            "No shit," Cov offered, profanely, in a tone Mel never did manage to decode. She decided to take as a compliment. 

            Mel had grown depressed as the memory, or more accurately the _feel_ of her connection to Xena's spirit faded out. What she missed wasn't in her mind, it was in her body.  She had felt herself epic – alive, vibrant, unshakable. It seemed to slip away slowly over the following weeks.  To lose it felt a terrible loss.  She felt she was shrinking, losing solidity, being reduced back down the self she had always known.  

            But now, that same feeling was increasing again.  Slight changes had grown in her over the months since. The transformation was taking place now incrementally.  And this, she felt sure, was really her.  She could not say how much her experience with Xena's presence those month's ago had to do with it.  But she was sure that her friendship with Cov played a major role.  Something about Cov made her feel more herself. In truth, she liked Cov more and more as time passed.  And she would be sad to see them part, whenever they did.  She was grateful they'd snagged this job and postponed their parting of ways.  Mel was aware that neither she nor Covington had made any plans for when their work ended.

            That night, their last night on the dig, they drank and sang with the whole crew. When everyone had drifted away, Mel found Covington beginning to pack the bed of her truck. She handed Cov a final beer. They toasted in silence.

            "So what's next for you?" Cov asked. 

            "Not sure," Mel said.  "You?" 

            "I'm planning to grab a ship at the coast and head to France for a while. I've got people there I want to see," Cov said.  The tone offered an invitation, but Mel felt shy and needed it to be made a bit more explicit.  Cov seemed to pick up on this after a brief silence had passed.  "If you want another journey in the winged chariot here, you'd be welcome."  Mel stared at Cov's hideous truck. 

            "You think she'll have me?" Mel asked. 

            "Ah, sure.  She's a Quaker at heart, you know," Cov said and took a drink of her beer with no hint of a smile

            "I'm sure she's a lady of fine character," Mel said. 

            "Good, old Jezebel," Cov said, pounding her truck callously on the hood with the beer bottle in her hand.  Mel felt a flash of worry that bottle would shatter in Cov's fist from the impact and marveled at the bizarre blend of Cov's cavalier reverence.

            "I still don't understand why you would to have that thing ferried across from England," Mel said.  Cov looked horrified. 

            "Loyalty, obviously," she said.  "I couldn't just leave her _alone_." The tone was joking, but Mel knew how much work it would really be to bring a truck on any cross-continent trek, much less a career in archeology.  Cov's relationship to her truck was too strange for Mel to even question.

            "Your out of your damn mind, Yankee," Mel said, recognizing at once that she was a tad drunk.  Covington was delighted by this, however, and laughed so hard she doubled over.

            "I'd love a ride," Mel added.  Cov smiled and leaned comfortably against her "beautiful, English truck," as she put it, nestled against the wheel well, finishing her beer in a few long drinks. 

 

            They went back on the road again together.  Covington had taken them north with their treasure on the day they'd first met.  Three weeks of easy travel, sleeping at night under the stars by a fire or in an old army tent, and two violent outbreaks later, they handed the pack of scrolls over to Dr. Lawrence Barrington, a close friend of Mel's.  He took the scrolls to America that very day. They'd spent most of their time as they traveled with Mel reading Covington the scrolls.  Immune to motion sickness, she kept up reading even as they drove.  Cov proved at attentive listener, sitting totally silent, but catching on two occasions slight mistakes Mel made in her translation that influenced the story. The entire trip felt an adventure teaming with energy and newness and, of course, danger.

            Mel felt grateful life had calmed down since they parted ways with the scrolls.  She remembered waking up in the night, hearing the sound of car doors slamming. She felt Covington slip away, then she heard the horrid sound of her hitting one man over the head and the other in the face with an old pick handle.  Then, there'd been an outburst in a bar.  Covington was stabbed, the wound only shallow since she'd caught the man's arm.  Mel hadn't known this at the time.  She leapt up and smashed a wine bottle into one man's face and hit another, somewhat ineffectually, with a chair, before Covington decked him, then drew her pistol and chased them off.  For a moment, Mel felt that Xena had returned.  Then she realized it was her own adrenaline, which was coming down, leaving her terribly shaky.  She was so relieved to see Cov standing there angry and gripping her side in a manner almost casual that she could not speak for a moment. 

            Cov refused to leave the bar until she finished her drink, then adamantly resisted help from Mel to dress such a "minor wound." Mel rolled the idea of major and minor wounds over and over in her mind, new to the concept that they could be grouped in the same vein as poets or chords.  Mel got to see all the scars from Cov's implied "major wounds" that were hidden under Cov's shirt later, as she mumbled profanities and chewed a cigar while treating her new one with whiskey and cotton dressing. She held up the shirt, frowning, considering it the worst loss of the evening, Mel could see. They slept in the same bed in the hotel room with Covington's gun in between their pillows, a chair wedged under the door, and a rope tied to the window in case they needed to escape. It had been a great relief to let the scrolls go and come to this new dig and go so long without meeting trouble. 

            On the road now, everything seemed peaceful, unlike their journey before. They were quiet as the miles began to pass.  Their lives slowed down to an easy pace.  During the dig, they had little energy for conversation.  They'd eat and drink and talk of light things, simply spending the time before bed in one another's company.  

            "How'd you learn to drive them big machines?" Mel asked Covington.

            "From my dad," Cov said.  "Anyone can do it.  All it takes is practice." 

            "Preferably before you work on an archeological dig," Mel said. Cov chuckled. 

            "It is _preferable_ ," she said. Mel thought back to the only conversation they'd had about Cov's father during the dig. They were tearing out a particularly heavy portion of dirt in a deep trench that was over their heads, giving them some shelter from the sun.   

            "I would blast this out with dynamite, but this is a respectable dig," Cov said, joking.  "Can't allow my Covington side to come out and ruin your name."  Her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Mel.

            "You'd prefer less civilized methods?" Mel asked.  Cov chuckled. 

            "Nothing more _civilized_ than explosives, Cov said.  "But, nah – I'm just bluffing.  I love it this way, everything so orderly and precise." 

            "You've had some rough jobs?" Mel asked. 

            "Oh, yeah!" Cov said.  "I once excavated a crypt _overnight_. We blew out a wall and ruined half the goods.  I had men scrambling among the mess like rats for five hours packing it into sacks."

            "The goods?" Mel said. 

            "The artifacts," Cov said in a shockingly precise, upper-class English accent. It made Mel smile.

            "You were working for you dad?" Mel asked. 

            "Yep.  It wasn't his preference either.  He did some really fine work when he was a young man," she said. 

            "Was it the money?" Mel asked. 

            "Yep," Cov said.  "He never could hold onto anything he made." 

            "I heard he specialized in mummies," Mel said. 

            "Yeah? You heard that?" Cov laughed. Mel shrugged.  "He did some real dangerous work in Egypt when I was about seventeen and eighteen.  He started a bidding war between two big-wigs in the back alley trade over there. One ended up shooting the other over their disputes.  His name got out. He put me through school on those couple year's wages.  Every time he got money, he'd try to cash it in on something big."

            "Is that how he got the name?" Mel asked. 

            "He got the title 'grave robber' long before he got into all that," she said. 

            "How?" Mel asked. 

            "He didn't have a degree.  As a boy, he and his brothers used to run illegal trade across borders, and he used those skills to establish himself as an archeologist.  He could get the workers and get himself into places no one else could.  Other archeologists hated his guts," she said. 

            "They were upset his digs were illegal?" Mel asked.  Cov huffed a sarcastic laugh.   

            "No, he did things on the level when he was young.  He had dreams then.  He did their work better than they did, and he didn't have the right pedigree."

            "Unlike you?" Mel asked. 

            "Exactly. Bought and paid for," Cov said with a grin Mel couldn't quite read.  "Eventually, he got smart and started selling his finds to other archeologists instead of trying to sell direct to collections.  They'd pay him to establish their careers on his finds. I done the same myself a bit, when I was real young, before I got to England."  Covington received her degree in England, though apparently she'd spent her summers roaming all through the British Isles.

            "They used his work, but they called him a 'grave robber' all the same," Mel said.  Cov nodded. She was scanning the wall, which was packed so hard it was like new brick.

            "I'm not saying he was any better than any of them.  He was no hero.  Just not worse.  He was never worse," Covington said. After a brief pause, she punctuated the sentence by smashing out a basketball size piece of dirt along with several smaller chunks. 

            "How do you do that?" Mel asked. 

            "What?" Cov said.

            "Choose the right spot?"  The next several minutes were filled with Cov's incoherent attempt to explain how to "read" a wall.  Lots of pointing was involved and absolutely nothing Mel could discern akin to scientific reasoning.  Mel finally just pushed her glasses up, pressed her lips together, and gave Cov a placating stare.  Cov grinned with one side of her mouth. 

            "I guess you just get used to it," she said and turned back to the work.

            Mel's thoughts drifted as she stared out over the Greek countryside as it passed by. How she was going to miss the work. She felt almost homesick now as they rode away, and then she felt a bit surprised to be traveling again with Cov.  She still didn't know when they'd part ways, but she had long been prepared for their relationship to end with the close of the dig.  That transition felt unmoored now.  She ought to try to settle into the trip, but it was difficult for Mel without a clear end in mind.  She would still miss being on the dig.  She must have been heavy with the thoughts for a while, because Cov glanced over at her.  She reached over and squeezed her knee, which made Mel oddly alert. 

            "You doing alright?" she said. 

            "Yes," Mel said, "I'm just going to miss the dig." 

            "Gotta be more work for you soon," Cov said. 

            "Probably," Mel said, "But I'll miss the digging."  Cov smirked. 

            "Well, you can _dig_ anywhere you want," she said.  Mel was unable to make up her mind whether Cov was making a simple joke or a layered one and did not laugh.  Cov sobered up right away. 

            "What will you miss about it?" she asked.  Her brow knitted as she tried to understand. 

            "I just felt… strong,  On the dig," Mel said.  Cov was quiet for a long time, thinking this over, Mel felt sure. 

            "You know how to drive at all?" Cov said, catching Mel off guard.

            "No," Mel said. 

            "You can learn to drive Jez if you want," Cov said.  Mel was stunned speechless.  She started blatantly at Cov, who seemed not to noticed. 

            "You must consider me a _real_ friend," she said. 

            "Of course, I do," Cov said.  This killed Cov's humor.  Her tone flickered with a startled anger.  Mel could tell she was hurt.  Cov seemed uncomfortable, trying to iron out what Mel meant by the comment.   

            Mel couldn't think of anything to say.  So she reached over and squeezed Cov's shoulder. That seemed to break the mood between them.  Cov softened and the crease went out of her brow.  

            "Anytime you want," Cov picked up again.  "She'll teach you how to work a lady." This time Cov gave a blatantly deviant grin, biting the tip of her tongue. She was obviously delighted by herself, as she glanced at Mel. 

            "Is that right?" Mel said, noncommittally, barely working to suppress her smile.  She was lost more in the idea of driving the truck than the humor.  It stayed with her all day as she started to notice Cov's body work and shift the pedals and gears, a kind of poetry, the machine an extension of her body it seemed. 

 

            Their days of driving passed uneventful and wonderful.  They stopped in small towns where they met locals who warmed up to Cov and Mel quickly when they spoke Greek.  They ducked into barely recognizable eating establishments and bars that had been pointed out to them.  Mel was amazed by how little they paid. Even where Cov knew no one, she seemed to be adopted quickly.  Other than that, they bought hardly anything.  Covington grew so excited over the purchase of an old hand-scythe, Mel had to keep from laughing at her.  It was some brand Mel couldn't remember, though Cov had said it several times.  She wanted to ask what Cov planned to do with it, but she couldn't bring herself to rival her euphoric mood.  Cov coated it with a thin layer of grease and packed it in piece of cloth, tucked into the bed of her truck among all her other strange gear. 

            They lay around the fire each night.  This night, the air was warm and the sky remarkably clear. A large moon rose up over them. Mel looked out across the Greek countryside, illuminated and strange, thinking poetic thoughts about the landscape of the underworld.  She thought back over the scrolls, silent for a while.  Across the fire, Covington had her coat folded and propped under her head.

            "What do you want in life, Cov?" Mel asked mildly.  "What's the end goal?"  If Cov was thrown by this, it didn't show. She seemed lost in deep thought a moment. 

            "To find something of significance," she said. 

            "More than the scrolls?" Mel asked.  Cov smiled and laughed mildly. 

            "No, not something on a dig.  In life, I suppose I mean," Cov said.  Her tone implied a great deal that Mel could not tease out of this veiled sentiment. 

            "What could be more important than work?" Mel asked.  It was a half-hearted statement, and Cov laughed.

            "I don't know," Cov said. 

            "You want to keep working on digs?" Mel asked. 

            "Maybe," Cov said.  "Sometimes I wish I could get hold of some divers, learn about ocean floors, and lead an exhibition off the coast." 

            "Find a whole ship full of treasure," Mel said. 

            "Well, sure," Cov said.  "But finding the ship, that's the good part.  All that vast ocean floor and shipwrecks like tiny dots sprinkled in it.  It's the chase, not the treasure, I think, in that line of work.  As a girl, I used to look at the stars at night and think they were a map – a map of the ocean floor indicating where all the shipwrecks were. I wondered how I could learn to read it." 

            "Some of the most incredible finds come from ships.  But it's not about the artifacts, not for you?" Mel asked.  Cov's hand raised as she gave an apathetic shrug.

            "We can pull out all the beautiful pots and gods and gold and jewels we want," Cov said, "It's not gonna change anything.  Seems like a funny way to try and get at money to me, compared with other things." 

            "You don't care about the potential profit?" Mel asked.

            "Nah. I can hold onto money. I'm not like my daddy was. I got some put by, here and there, in, say, five countries now.  I like the work, to be honest," she said.  "I feel good at it." 

            "I'm sure you would be good at a lot of things," Mel said.

            "Takes time to learn to be good at something, though," Cov said.  

            "So how come you cared so much about the scrolls?" Mel asked.

            "They're more than nothing," Cov said.  A long silence passed.  "I'll admit, though, when I started out, I felt a debt to my father. I wanted to salvage his name. But that changed. I recognized it was all those haughty bastards back at uni, all those other archeologists whose opinions I was wanting to change.  And I couldn't.   I realized they don't matter one wit.  There's a lot of people in the world who know more than they do. Most of them didn't get it out of book learning."  

            Mel sat, mulling over Cov's phrase.  _They're more than nothing_. The expression was just like Cov, just how she expressed what she felt most strongly.  Backwards, it seemed.  She tried to draw up some fragment from school buried in her mind. Litotes, Mel remembered. She thought of Hamlet, which she'd read as a freshmen working on her undergraduate degree. Mel could not form the precise phrase.  But she remembered how the plot was driven by Hamlet's feeling for his father, unexpressed, under the surface.  But when he spoke of him, he was indirect.  _He was a man_ , Hamlet said of his father.  _I'll never know his like_. She weighed the phrase in her mind, trying to adjust it to make it fit Cov, to say what she would want to say about Cov to someone listening.  _She was a woman.  I've never known her like_.  She felt a kinship with Hamlet; why try to put into words what was impossible to convey?

            Mel was growing tired, she could tell.  She felt her thoughts spiraling out like a spool of ribbon, following long, flowing trails on their way to sleep and dreams. Mel slept quite heavy and always had the deepest, vivid dreams.  She recorded them diligently in her journal.  She often found insights and direction by sifting through her dreams.  She wondered what they'd be tonight.  So many strange thoughts milling about tonight, so much newness. 

            She dreamed of riding a horse through a field of high wheat. The sun was rising and a mist came up off the ground.  She heard a sound beside her and turned to see Covington walking, wearing her work gloves with her sleeves rolled up, coat slung over her shoulder.  She smiled at Mel – a contented smile. She was at peace. Mel looked at the sun. She knew, by feel, it was an ancient one. 


	2. Chapter Two

_(If impatient for the sex, just skip to chapter five)._

 

            Mel had a lot of time to herself on the ship that bore them south along the coast of Italy.  Covington was extremely prone to seasickness, and, as an antidote, she bought a large bottle of rum and started drinking before ever getting on the ship, where she planned to stay just slightly drunk.  It was hard work to calculate, she explained, given the frequency of the vomiting. She watched them load Jez onto the ship.  Then she confined herself to a cabin like a wounded animal and didn't want any visits or pity.

            Mel had a strange time on the boat while Cov was preoccupied. There were only a few dozen other women on board, and they were all married, it seemed.  They more or less ignored Mel.  Instead, being the only single woman on board, she drew an unusual amount of attention from the unmarried men on the ship. Over the first couple of days, they sort of vied for Mel's attention.  She got rather tactful at turning down drinks, otherwise, she would have had to be carried away from the bar.  Then slowly, a young Italian man who wore fine suits started to be the only one to approach her.  The other men looked like they'd resigned themselves.  It had nothing to do with Mel's preferences; she had not even decided what they were yet.  She gave a few signs she was disinterested, and oddly, none of the other men who paid her attention that first day seemed willing to approach her now.

            Mel then had time alone in her cabin or on deck.  She enjoyed every minute and thought over her life. She filled pages and pages of her journal.  She considered what she would do next.  It seemed so many new possibilities were just beginning to emerge.  There was a sense of excitement and life inside her that felt vibrant and filled with promise.  She'd made a strange choice when she had followed up the letter sent to her father, four months late, and went to track down Doctor Covington. She had only really acted on an unmoored intuition a few times in her life so far.  Mel felt terribly pleased with her decision now and proud. No one had any idea why she had decided to go to Greece.  The office supported her, but they were clearly confused.  She never tried to explain.  She just knew she needed to go and find Covington.

            Covington emerged on the fourth day.  Her seasickness had passed.  She claimed to have "a headache from not-smoking." She went out onto the deck and lit a cigar.  Mel stood and watched her, playing with the idea of not-smoking as a verb.  She had missed Cov, she had to admit, silly as it seemed. Cov seemed grateful to have emerged and seemed particularly conscious of Mel, as if she appreciated her even more. They stayed near each other all day. 

            Cov seemed adamant that she should make up for her missed days of smoking, and Mel came with her out onto the deck again after dinner.  The air was cool, and Cov wore her jacket. Mel wore a long coat, tied at the waist, and kept her hands tucked in her pockets. 

            Mel stood with her back against the rail, facing into the wind. She stuffed her hat into her pocket to keep it from flying away.  Cov leaned into the rail beside her, facing out to sea. Cov had her hat off, as well, and the wind played only a few strands of hair that came free of her long, single braid. 

            "I guess this is a new chapter of my life," Cov said.

            "How so?" Mel asked.  

            "No more scrolls.  I feel like my last tie to Harry Covington has faded away," Cov said. She found it odd to hear Cov refer to her father by his full name.  "Maybe I should have a ritual, a little funeral of some kind."

            "How did he die?" Mel asked.  Covington looked up, running her eyes over Mel's face. Mel felt sure Cov had assumed she knew this already.  She turned back out to sea and leaned back a bit, tugging the rail. 

            "He shot himself," she said.  "Somewhere in Cecily.  A friend of his sent us a telegram.  I don't know what happened to the body."

            Mel stood silent a moment as she tried to take in what Cov had just said. She thought of her own father's death.  He had been diagnosed with cancer.  He went in the next day and packed away his things at the university.  He'd spent the last year and half of his life walking along the beach in Charleston each morning, collecting shells and bits of interesting things tossed up by the sea.  He'd lay them out on his desk atop piles of papers he ignored and never looked them up to find out what they were.  He was being pressed by friends and colleagues to finish some final work. He ignored them all. He read and reread books, all of them fiction and poetry.  He spent evenings sitting on their porch watching his second wife as she gardened or else beside her at the fireplace, which he lit even when it was warm. Mel did not know his second wife, Hillary, well, but grew to love her as she stayed with the two of them on a four month leave from New York.  How long and softly Hillary wept at the funeral.  Most of those who spoke recounted her father's academic accomplishments.  Mel could barely hear them, even then.  The local reverend spoke, though he did not know Melbourne Covington well. _He was a man of peace_ , Mel remembered, the reverend saying. How her heart caught at those words.  That's what he was, she felt, in the deepest sense.  Mel knew her father wanted his second wife to be able to stay in the house, so Mel signed all the papers needed to make it so and went back to New York.

            She looked at Cov now, leaning over the rail, staring down at the sea. Mel wondered if she'd ever wept over her father.  She seemed so casual, yet she spoke of her life entering a new stage.  She wondered what it meant to Cov to lose him in the end.  It made a harsh contrast, highlighting how different their lives were.  Mel was terribly fortunate, she knew.  Cov would be annoyed by pity, and it didn't feel the right way to relate to her.  Still Mel felt a sadness that would not die away. 

            "How long since you'd seen him?" she asked.

            "Six years," Cov said.  "We'd been fighting all the time, and I left on a job led by another man, Whistler.  He didn't like that."  The last phrase was short, flippant. 

            "How long you work for him?" Mel asked, implying Whistler. Covington joked on the dig that Mel was the only "employer" she could work under.  Cov smiled. 

            "Not long," Cov said. 

            "What happened?" Mel asked. 

            "He asked me what I thought, and I told him," she said vaguely. She tossed the butt of her cigar out to sea and lit a second.  Mel could feel it was, in part, because she did not know what else to say. Covington leaned into the rail, then rocked a bit on her heels.  Such a strange mix of a person, Mel thought.  She could almost feel the bravery and the coyness emanating from Cov at once. 

            "You remind me of my granddaddy," Mel said.

            "Lord!" Cov blustered, eyebrows raised in humor and alarm. 

            "Not physically," Mel said. 

            "Oh, well, that's good," Cov said.  She'd taken in Mel's tone more fully and was less joking, paying more attention.  

            "He had the same kind of honesty," Mel said,  "'Purity of heart,' my mother called it. He was the only honest businessman in Charleston.  He couldn't tell a lie to save his life.  Couldn't ever really fit in…"  She caught on her own final phrase, searching for a better way to say what she meant. Cov, however, did not seem to take offense and looked very flattered, and Mel felt sure, slightly shy. She turned away from Mel.

            "I got all kinds of things in my heart," Cov said, as she stared out to sea. 

 

            As they drove through France, Mel took over much of their communication and navigation.  Cov's French was good on paper but patchy in conversation.  Her accent was plain bad.  Mel presented a finer air, Cov said, relinquishing all interpersonal duties, perhaps a bit too readily.  She never she said disliked the French, but she seemed more guarded than she'd been in Greece.  She never talked to strangers without good reason, Mel noticed. 

            Cov grew excited as they drew closer to Paris.  That's where her friends were.  Peg, Genevieve, Clyde, and Rick – their may have been more, but Mel caught those names.  Most were friends of Cov's from university. 

            "Clyde'll put us up," Cov said.  "He owns a little hotel just outside the city." Mel had come to realize that Cov did not actually live anyplace.  She'd always imaged she had a little place somewhere, probably England. She imagined she had things packed away.  Mel had her apartment in New York and a house in Charleston.  They'd be there when she got back.  Everything Cov owned was packed away in the back of her truck. She had spots all over the continent and the States where she would stay.  It helped to explain what Cov had meant about having money put away.  Mel had to wonder when and if Cov ever paid for housing.  She asked her. 

            "Winter," Cov said with a sly grin.  Mel could not tell if she was serious. 

            They made it to the hotel and met Clyde, a tall, shy man who hugged Cov warmly, holding onto her for a long minute.  He had a shaggy, English hunting dog who seemed to know Cov, though he was so friendly with Mel, as well, she could not quite say. Clyde and Cov held onto each other for a long moment before they let go.  He seemed to bring out a particularly soft side out of Cov. It was very quiet, as tourist season had long passed.  They went behind the little courtyard of rooms to Clyde's house and ate a quick meal of bread, cheese, and tea.  Then Clyde gave them keys, and took them to a room. 

            Cov gave Mel's head a spin as they settled in by changing into what Mel thought of as civilian garb.  She dug a huge bag from the bottom of the truck bed, which was no small feat. She put on black pants that fit well enough Mel tried not to stare, lower black boots, and a white shirt made of thick silk.  As they left the hotel, she dragged along a long, dark bluish coat that hung loose when she left it open, but appeared able to be buttoned in close to the body. She kept her hat, wearing it less and less frequently, as if on purpose, but still clinging to it like a trusted friend.  There was no civilian hat, Mel recorded, planning to copy it in her journal in this way.

            They went with Clyde, along with Oscar, who drove them in a small, black car to meet Genevieve, Genevieve's husband Patrice, and their daughter, Adele, at their home.  Genevieve and Patrice and came to hug her both at once.  They seemed overjoyed to see Cov and also very much distressed by how thin they thought she'd grown.  Genevieve touched Cov's body, as if measuring her thickness, turning to Patrice, who looked on with gravity, nodding his head.  Cov explained she'd been "working too much" in a tone of mild apology.             

            "You must eat more!" Genevieve said, as Patrice nodded and patted Cov on the back.  Cov looked very serious as she continued to nod, as if she'd mishandled an investment they had leant her. They practically carried her inside this way. 

            As she settled in with them, Mel had the distinct sense the group was like family.  They had dinner out on the back patio, and sat drinking wine and talking late into the evening. Cov marveled at Adele, who had just learned to walk.  She seemed to remember Cov as the evening wore on and to grow comfortable with her.

            Mel stared in wonder as Cov played with Adele, letting her pull her hat down over her eyes.  She seemed very comfortable with children.  More comfortable than Mel, who liked children, but had, she explained later to Cov, no idea what to say.  This left Cov laughing and blustering that one needn't _say_ anything. 

            Patrice came and sat beside Mel.  He had a very soft presence.  He quickly found out her love of literature and languages that first night, which he shared.  They forged a unique bond right away.  They sat murmuring over poets and novels while the others entertained themselves with other matters.  Patrice brought out a few books to show Mel. 

            They sat out and watched the sun set on their patio before moving inside, as they would many nights in the weeks to come.  Mel thought it was all terribly domestic for Cov. To her surprised, Cov seemed less restless in their home than anyplace they'd yet been. 

            At one point, Patrice brought Cov a pile of papers tied with a loose bit of twine.  In was full of letters addressed to Cov, which had already been opened Mel could see, indicating they had been keeping an eye out for anything urgent.  Under them was a pile of what appeared to be pamphlets and small magazines. 

            "We kept you some things we liked," Genevieve had explained, tapping the pile, leaving Mel to wonder what they were. 

            Cov sat with her knees bent and held each item up to read through it, blowing smoke out to the side.  She looked every item in the pile with a great deal more attention than Mel had ever seen her apply to written text.  It made her deeply curious, and made her almost jealous to watch someone else so attentively read.  That night in the little hotel room, she pushed the letters over to glance at the pile. The other documents were political arguments about women's rights.  

            Cov and Mel sat up and talked late into the night that night and many nights after.  Mel came to know all kinds of things about Cov.  Perhaps the one that surprised her most was that she had two brothers. Mel was floored by this. She had no idea Cov had siblings.

            "I never said I didn't have any," Cov said, in mild self-defense. "They're from a different mother than me."

            "You like 'em?" Mel asked.  Cov seemed to have to think about this. 

            "They're alright," Cov said, "We've backed each other a few times."

            "What do they do?" Mel asked. 

            "One's a fisherman in Norway.  The other owns a shoe shop in Denmark.  Honest businessmen," she said with sarcastic grin. "They both got families – wives and kids." 

            "Not you, though," Mel said.  Cov laughed like Mel had said the funniest thing in the world.

            "Well, what about you?" Cov said. 

            "Have I got any hidden siblings?  No," Mel said. 

            "No, a family I mean.  You going to marry some nice southern man and have a batch of beautiful, Nobel-prize winning babies?"  Mel gave Cov a hard glance to let her know she was teasing too much.  Cov retracted immediately. 

            "I've had interests," Mel said with a shrug.  Cov chuckled. 

            "What's that mean?  Fiscal interests?" Cov said with a grin.     

            "Love interests," Mel said.  "Not sure about a family, though."  Covington was staring at the window, still smiling. "You ever want a family? Just the idea even?" Mel asked.  Cov sobered up.

            "I've got a family, I feel.  Just… an unusual one.  Folks scattered here and there all over.  Guess when I get older I'll settle down near some of 'em.  Have gardens, raise chickens, and the like," Cov said.  Mel had to laugh.

            "What about love?" she said.  Cov turned to her with an eyebrow cocked.  "You had any lovers?" Mel asked, feeling she'd have to be a little blunt to get an answer to this out of Covington.  Cov smiled a little and grew sheepish, Mel thought. She'd grown comfortable enough with Mel, though, that she didn't balk at the question.  

            "Yeah, I've had a few," Cov said, one side of her mouth curving into a gentle, but undeniably sly, smirk.  "All good ones, I'd add."  She eyed Mel up and down, which felt a bit uneasy. Mel had seen her do this calculating a challenger before a fight broke out.  "What about you?"

            "I've had a few," Mel said, mirroring Cov's tone.  "Not _all_ good ones, I'd have to admit."  Cov laughed, softly.  She grew more comfortable, realizing Mel thought, this was not an inquisition meant to go only one way. 

            "I been lucky," Cov said, neutralizing any comparison and leaning back a bit.  "How not good?" Cov added, thinking more and looking a bit concerned, as she dug a cigar out of her pocket.  Mel shrugged.

            "Nothing scary," she said.  "More just… nothing."  Cov smiled slightly. 

            "Nice southern boys?" she asked, grinning at her gentle tease. Mel had no idea why this idea amused Cov so much, though obviously it did. 

            "Well, a Yankee was my best," Mel conceded.  "Maybe I'm not a good judge of character."

            "Think it has to do with character?" Cov asked.  It was more a joke than a question, and it made them both laugh. 

            "I would've thought you've had lots of lovers," Mel admitted. Covington's eyes blazed as she looked up at her, though she said nothing for a moment.

            "I feel I've had my share," she said.  "I work a lot, and I've got a lot of good friends. Keeps me occupied. Out of trouble. More or less." Her eyes went to the window, and she squinting, taking on slightly aloof air.  "People assume I just take-em and leave-em by the loads. Guess it's an impression I give," her eyes flicked to Mel's in a sort of intimate joke, "But that ain't so."

            "You been in love?" Mel asked.

            "No. Well… no… " Cov said. The question seemed to have caught her off-guard, and she sat up like she'd lost her balance in the chair. She'd never appeared awkward to Mel before, but somehow this question seemed to bring it out.  "I've loved people.  I mean really loved them.  And I've slept with some of them.  It's just… You know I don't want to get married. I'm not that type. I try to be careful with people, but, as lovers, I'm just, well it's not going to be more than friendship with me. But not less either." She held up her hand, still holding the unlit cigar, as if warding off some attack.  The last statement was quick.  She seemed to be growing more uncomfortable, her body stiff in the chair.  She took a drink from her whiskey, swallowing hard.

            "I think I know what you mean," Mel said.  Cov relaxed visibly, as if Mel had let her off the hook. She became herself again, sitting confident, body at once tense and loose in the chair.    

            "You been with any women?" Mel asked.  Cov looked up and stared her hard in the face, clearly caught off-guard by the question.  The answer was unreadable in her expression, as it shifted a few times and still revealed nothing. 

            "I been with one," Cov said with an aura of honesty. She took a drink again, recovering her composure. 

            "You been with men?" Mel asked, breaking the mood.  Cov laughed.  She rubbed at her face.   

            "Yeah, I been with a handful of them," she said.  She shook her head as the laugh wore out. She cocked an eyebrow. "That's a bit of a forward question, " she said, "Or else a forward-thinking one." Her eyes were sharp as she eyed Mel. 

            Cov was pushing back at her a little, Mel thought, at the slight invasion of privacy she'd allowed.  She was wondering why Mel wanted to know.  Rather than to respond, Mel decided to sidestep the next part of the conversation.

            "I've been with both," she said.  She sipped at her own drink while looking out the window, so Cov could look her over if she wanted.  "I been in love with both, too."

            When she looked back, Cov's expression surprised her.  She wasn't scrutinizing Mel.  Her thoughts were grown deeper. Her brow was knitted, and she was frowning. 

            "Must be harder for you," she said.  The words were slow, trailing along with her thoughts. "You've got folks and all. Only people who care what I do are the ones I'm touching."  

            Mel felt so surprised by Cov's first remark, it was a wonder her body did not start. Her tone did not ask for any answer, and Cov turned again to stare out the window, taking another drink of her whiskey.  Mel marveled a moment at Covington, at this sudden show of empathy.  It was odd to be given sympathy when she felt she was the one with greater privilege on every front.  Still, the sentiment seemed genuine and thoughtful coming from Cov.

            "Had," Mel clarified.  Her family was gone now.  The word hung strangely heavy on the air.  They were quiet together for a while. 

            Such a funny turn of phrase, Mel thought.  _The ones I'm touching._ Her inner fire seemed to swell, as she thought how odd Cov's life must be, one entirely of her own making. The contents of her inner world, which would spill out in phrases like this, were constituted of a different framework than Mel's, than any Mel had ever known before.  So much freedom, she thought.  She felt a flicker of jealousy that reinforced her admiration for Cov. 

 

            Cov started to take Mel out driving.  She'd get them out away from everything and onto some dirt roads in the middle of farm country.  Mel picked up fairly quickly on shifting gears.  A few weeks passed, and she could let another car roll past without concern. 

            Cov began to pull two crates out of the back of the truck and work Mel through some more difficult maneuvering.  Finally, she put them out one day with little extra room and went through the procedure of getting the truck parked in between. She showed Mel twice, explaining out loud each step, then pulled out and switched places with her.

            The stress of the simple situation Cov created took Mel by surprise. The tight maneuver showed every error, it seemed, in how she handled the truck.  She started over a few times, then ground the gears and bumped one of the crates.  

            "Sorry," Mel said, turning quickly to Cov. 

            "No, fuck that," Cov said casually.  Mel stared at her, digesting the profanity.  Cov did not notice, and indeed, her ease had not changed at all.  She was turned and looking in the side mirror and shifted back in the seat.  "Just go again," she said, leaning up to look over the hood. 

            Mel turned back, a new focus coming over her.  She worked the clutch and shifted gears, putting the truck into reverse.  It took a few moments of awkward maneuvering, but she got them out.  She looped around and came back to line up beside the crates.  Cov's oversight had faded out of Mel's mind completely.  She was focused on the truck and somehow things became fluid. She got the truck neatly settled between the two crates and put it into park, the engine still idling.

            She turned to Cov, who sat back into the seat, angled against the door, grinning.  She had an elbow on the windowsill and the other arm across the seatback.  She always sat at such odd angles, body draped yet poised on her surroundings like a large cat.  It was an image Mel would remember for years, imbued with the sharp, incredible love she felt between them, shaping the very atmosphere of their world.    

            "Wanna go it again?" Cov asked Mel.  Mel nodded.  A half dozen successful parking jobs later, Mel drove them back up onto the dirt road with Covington whooping and circling her hat out the window.

           

            Mel drove them into Paris the next day.  The city driving made her nervous, but it felt exhilarating all the same.  That evening, they walked down an alley, arm in and arm, already slightly drunk. Mel was still riding the swell of her pride and elation from the day and her success with the truck, and Cov, though she seemed unconscious of the reason, seemed swept up with Mel's mood. _She really is such a softie_ , Mel thought, some more deeply planted governor in her mind making her aware that the precise tone and phrasing of her thought showed she was more than a bit drunk. 

            "I'm gonna call my friend Rick," Cov exclaimed, dragging them to a pay phone.  She pulled a little slip of paper from the lining of her hat, leaving Mel to wonder when she'd put it there. 

            The conversation on the phone was brief and extremely friendly. It left Mel wondering who this man was.  So far, she'd liked all Cov's friends, and they seemed remarkably willing to come to love Mel, their hearts made generous towards her by her connection with Cov.  

            Cov led them through the streets of Paris.  They approached a bar, and Mel could tell from a shift in Cov's posture that a man standing under a streetlight in a fine, light brown suit smoking a cigarette was Rick.  Cov flicked away the butt of her cigar, which went skittering over the cobblestone street, sending out a trail of burst embers.  They were approaching from behind, but he turned and caught sight of Cov.  His smile beamed in the light, though he waited for them and did not wave. 

            Rick was extremely handsome, a good bit shorter than Mel, and only a few inches taller than Covington.  He and Cov did not hug, Mel noticed.  They exchanged a few pleasantries.  It seemed the two of them were communicating around the words in subtle ways. Rick had his body held forward, shoulders rounded, hands in his pockets, and he could not stand still. Everything about him was both eager and coy at once.  Cov grinned openly at him.  Her body was unusually still, giving evidence to the most deeply buried shyness.  It was absolutely clear to Mel that this was one of Cov's lovers.  And, to her own surprise, rather than feel curious or jealous, she felt a deep liking and familiarity towards Rick at once. 

            "This is Mel," Cov said, sort of gesturing towards Mel with her shoulders.

            "Hi," Rick said, turning the same warm and eager energy onto Mel. They shook hands, already unlike strangers. 

            "You'll come in?" Rick asked, gesturing towards the bar. 

            "When I hear that this is the best bar in Paris from such an honorable source, I've just got to go see," Cov said.  Rick smiled, taking Cov's joke for the thinly veiled compliment it was.  He led them in, walking with his body turned towards them, already including Mel, she noticed, in everything he said about the place. 

            They stood drinking for a while and chatting.  A piano player came and livened up the bar, making it more difficult to talk.  They'd grown drunker in the meantime and did not mind.  They took over a little table near the front windows.  Cov went to fetch them a new round, planting her hand on Rick's shoulder so he would not try to take over and buy this round. Mel was left alone with Rick.

            Rick watched as Covington made her way to the bar.  He eyed her up and down, unabashedly, pleased by her gait and much more besides.  He seemed to be taking in the very energy of Cov, completely uninhibited in how he communicated his enjoyment and approval.  Mel felt a deep intimacy with him in this moment. Covington was such a strange figure with her own mix of masculine and feminine garb and her simultaneous deep reverence and deep irreverence for life and those around her that Mel at times had felt entirely solitary in her view of Cov.  The sudden experience of seeing the world the same, seeing _the same_ Cov, the real Cov, made her feel close to Rick.  He must have been experiencing the same connection with Mel, at least on some intuitive level. 

            "She's one fine thing," he said, smiling, still looking over at Cov, but clearly directing his statement to Mel.  She sat in silent agreement with all that was meant by his compliment. The words came out all together in one string, dipping up and down like a song.  _One-fine-thing_ , Mel's mind repeated as she also looked at Covington, laughing and cutting up with a group of fellows by the bar.  Cov collected the beers, nodded to the barkeep, and parted ways with the men. She made her way across the crowded room, hands together to steady the bottles, distributing them into Mel and Rick's outstretched hands. 

            The three of them toasted and drank.  They ended up staying out until the bar closed at four in the morning. Rick and Cov had danced, while Mel danced with a few sweet men from Austria.  They were feeling out of place at the bar, Mel could see, and were eager to find someone who spoke their language.  Cov got tired of dancing and perched herself by the bar. It was too loud and too drunk for talking.  Mel found herself dancing with Rick.  He was an excellent partner, and they kept on for song after song, each dance finding them more in time.  They were both shocked when the lights flashed, signaling the last song for the night. Staring at each other, they both knew they'd had the same thought. 

            "Come on you," Mel said, as she and Rick pulled Cov off the stool, forcing her to share the last dance.  Everyone in the bar sang, raucously, trying to soak up this last pitch of the evening. Cov had drunkenly grabbed her hat off the bar, an act of desperation, as she was dragged from her stool and onto the floor.  It was cocked over her eye, making her expression even more elusive, as they danced.

            Mel's ears were ringing, she realized, when they stepped out onto the street. The air was cool and felt amazing. But when it hit them, they realized how drunk they were. 

            "Two blocks to my place," Rick managed.  He took one of each of their hands, like a schoolboy. They lurched forward and fell into a steady walk, clinging to each other like lost children in a forest.

            It was a tumble of absurdity as Rick unlocked the doors to let them in to the courtyard then into his small apartment.  He ceremoniously procured glasses of water and a clean shirt of his for each of them.  They all undressed and dressed for bed, simply turning their backs to each other. Oddly, Rick and Mel fell into bed, while Cov tossed her jacked onto the carpeted floor and collapsed into it. A hand behind her neck and the other elbow over her eyes, she was asleep in moments.  Mel lay awake in the bed for a minute, wondering at their strange arrangement before she too was asleep. 

            Cov took them out to breakfast in the morning.  She seemed happier than Mel had ever seen her, basking in the glory of waking up with two friends.  I do believe she's been lonely in life, Mel thought. She hadn't really had the thought before. 

            Mel found that she loved Rick even more during the day, and she was glad to find that it wasn't all just booze and night-energy that made him seem so lovely. He brought such a good side out of Cov.  He brandished his croissant at her playfully and prompted her to tell stories, and Mel got to hear about all sorts of minor exploits Cov and their friends had during college that she was sure she never would have otherwise. 

            When she finished her food, Cov sipped her coffee and drew out cigar. Rick started like he'd been stung by a bee. 

            "Oh, my God!  Hoffbauer!" Rick cried.  He pointed emphatically at the cigar, gesturing with his whole body. 

            "Yep. It's my daily homage," Cov said, casually, opening her lighter and starting the smoke. 

            "What's that?" Mel asked. 

            "The Great Slick Bowler!  The man himself!  The Archbishop of Archeology!" Rick said.  Cov grinned. 

            "He was our professor in college," Cov explained. 

            "Professor? Hardly.  He was a god.  He was practically a father to Cov," Rick said. Cov's look confirmed this to Mel's surprise.  He stared at the cigar.  "They're, well, they're exactly the same – shape, size, and smell," he said, as he gave a sort of animated sniffing, like a curious, wild creature. It made Mel laugh.

            "They're Devil Jack Rubies," Cov said, her tone indicating that this meant they were the same.  "I'll give you one if you're a nice boy."  Cov's eyes danced along with an impish grin. 

            "I'm always nice to you, Cov," Rick said in his sweetest voice, grinning himself, "But I wouldn't smoke them nasties if you paid me. Brings back memories, though, My lord!"  He pulled out one of his own cigarettes. 

            "I heard from him," Cov said. 

            "Eh? How's that?" Rick asked, though clearly he'd understood what Cov had said.  Cov just nodded. 

            "Few months back.  I keep in touch by letter.  Send him a tie every Christmas, as well, from over at the shop on Westmin," she said.

            "Incredible," he said.  "Though it makes sense.  You always were his favorite."  Cov snorted mildly through her nose.  "It's true.  He thought you invented excellence.  I think he'd have retired if you didn't graduate." 

            "He might have paid Walters to pass me through orals," Cov said. "We understood each other. His father started out as a coal miner," Cov said, glancing at Mel.  This was supposed to explain something, Mel could tell, but she couldn't decipher what it was and felt a twinge at missing what Cov thought was shared by this thread of thought.  "I never would have made it through if it weren't for him," Cov said.

            "Or us," Rick said grinning with a decidedly devilish air. "He got you into work. We got you into trouble. And so the good doctor emerged triumphant."  Cov laughed at this. 

            Cov held her coffee cup, her fingers across the top, absorbing the steam that rose up.  The sight startled Mel's heart.  Mel had never seen Cov do this before.  It was just like Sarah, Mel remembered.  The thought made her chest ache, mingled with love and grief. 

            Mel could almost taste Sarah's mouth, the sight of Cov's hand over the cup brought her memories out so vividly.  She felt like her heart trembled.  They made shy lovers.  They made love to each other infrequently and always in the dark.  Yet it was always so sweet between them. It had been sweeter than with any man, even with Sam, who was probably her truest love and certainly her best lover.

            How many years since she'd heard from Sarah?  And she never would again.  She had made a conscious choice to stop seeing Mel and become more involved with a gentleman named Michael Rainer.  She wanted to leave women behind and be only with men. There was too much risk involved otherwise, too much at stake.  Mel could not blame her.

            Sitting now out on the street in Paris, she swallowed her coffee, wishing, hoping that she herself would prove more brave.  It wasn't wisdom, prudence or propriety that led one to engage in such affairs.  But Mel did not care.  She allowed so much of her life to be managed and organized by reason and accountability. She wanted her heart to have its say in her life, too.  She wanted her own love and her own desire, unchecked by expectation or outside approval to mandate who would be her lovers, how long, and when.  In this matter, unlike almost any other, she refused to let reason lead her along its way.  She kept all calculations of the cost at bay and avoided all accountability, even with friends.

            She glanced over Cov, who sat back in her chair, smiling, one arm crossed over her chest and the other elbow propped on her wrist, smoke trailing off the end of her cigar.  Cov just might be her next lover, Mel realized.  She felt herself swallow at the thought, and silently reached to take up her coffee. 

            Cov glanced over at Mel, her eyes catching and focusing, as she read the seriousness of Mel's mood.  She had no way to interpret it from they'd been talking about, as it was nothing remotely serious.  Something internal, she thought.  She clocked Mel's mood easily, a habit to her now.  She took the chance to look Mel over as Rick spoke to her, drawing her attention.  She wished in some small part she could get a moment alone with Rick to talk with him about Mel.  _Why's that?_ she wondered.  _Isn't Mel beautiful? Isn't Mel wonderful?_ she could ask him, like a silly youth.  Rick was good for that sort of thing.  Obviously, he'd agree.  What would he say then?It made her brows knit to consider it.  She felt sure he'd give her a push of some kind, into something uncomfortable, but healthy. He always did – the bastard. She smiled at her own thought, sipping her coffee.  She couldn't quite get it to take shape in her mind, though, what Rick would say. She turned back to Rick with a movement akin to a shrug, as she shook off her thoughts.   

            "Ever hear from Lucy?" Rick asked Cov.  He glanced at Mel at this, and something about the glance and tone caught in Mel's mind. 

            "No," Cov said.  "Last I heard, though, she was doing well.  She went on a backpacking tour of Iceland and landed a huge surveying gig. I think she was either in charge or something close to it."

            "That's good," he said.  "I imagine she'll land on her feet no matter what life tosses her."

            "Yeah," Cov said.  Both used a tone that indicated both confidence in this person Lucy and a sense of worry.

            "Ever hear from Charlie?" he said. 

            Cov went on to explain elaborate stories about their friend Charlie, who was living in England working for an odd sort of job related to Parliament. Mel's thoughts faded out a moment as it clicked.  Lucy must've been the one woman Cov had slept with before.  She was sure.  She felt herself strangely embarrassed, even to the point she felt herself flush as she considered Rick's glance.  It wasn't so embarrassing he assumed they were lovers, and she was not entirely sure he did.  He was just watching out for Cov, or perhaps even giving an unconscious cue that he felt an ambiguous worry about the dynamics of bringing up Lucy.  Somehow, however, this felt like it revealed something of Mel and Cov's intimacy, something Rick knew.  It made Mel feel embarrassed not because Rick was a stranger, but because Rick knew Cov.  _Rick_ knew what was real.

            She glanced over at Cov, having regained her composure.  She was squinting a bit in the morning sun, which had risen somewhat as they sat at the table.  It made her hair glow red. 

            _We're like family_ , Mel thought. And it didn't seem a burden or to make her feel anxious.  She marveled at the thought that she could not picture herself parting ways with Cov. Somehow, the idea had been banished to edge of the horizons in her imagination.  How did that happen, she wondered, in the course of eight, no seven months?  It just had. The thought made her a bit uneasy.

            Rick placed his hand on Cov's forearm, catching the rolled up part of her sleeve.  He held it there and rubbed with his thumb, emphasizing some line of conversation Mel had lost completely. Mel felt a flash of pure annoyance and jealousy at this.  _Still human_ , she thought of herself, as she took a drink of her coffee.  Cov actually took his hand and squeezed it, and Mel kept looking out over the square, detaching herself for a moment, before coming back to the conversation again.  Her ill thoughts, thankfully, were shallowly embedded and faded away.

            They stayed in Paris so late that night, Cov decided to get them a hotel. They were planning to go out and meet Rick again later.  Apparently, she was not entirely eager to sleep on Rick's floor again.  She's got limits, thought Mel.  Other thoughts crossed her mind, as well. 

            "You want to give me the key?" Mel asked, as Cov unlocked the door. Covington handed it over, a blank look on her face.  She looked at Mel, unsure, Mel could see, why Mel had asked.  She tried to be more clear. 

            "Or I could get another room.  It's no trouble, you know," Mel said, casually.   

            "How's that?" Cov asked, growing, it seemed, more confused. She eyed the doorknob and looked back, as she processed what Mel had said for a moment.  Mel nearly laughed as Cov pieced her question together, realized Mel knew she'd been lovers with Rick, and grew deeply embarrassed. 

            "Mel, that was a long time ago," she said.  Mel gave a gesture, part shrug and part offer, as Covington recovered herself.  "That's real nice," she said, the tone genuine despite the weakness of her phrase, "But it's not necessary.  Stay here, unless you want another room."

            "Nah," Mel said.  "I like being with you.  I never have to think about if someone breaks in."  Cov chuckled, as she flicked on the light and entered the room.  

            Mel had to admit she was surprised.  She actually wondered why Cov would not stay over with Rick, his place or this one.  She probably would in Cov's place, and Rick seemed like he'd be interested.  She thought perhaps Cov would change her mind. Her suspicions lessened when they journeyed to the other side of Paris from Rick's place to visit a particular chain of bars.  They drank lighter tonight and sat outside at tables on the sidewalk.  That way they could talk more. 

            Rick told numerous stories about his life in Paris.  And he told stories about Covington in college specifically to amuse Mel.  Apparently Cov had a tendency to fall asleep in morning class.  When once a teacher woke her, Cov had made such a sarcastic crack, he left her alone for the remainder of the year.  Rick complained of how Cov was always awake for tests, and no matter how much she ignored lessons or skipped lectures, she always passed. 

            Cov seemed to enjoy Rick's stories, but from her body language, Mel could tell there was a side to the story the fell underneath these tall tales. She'd been unhappy, Mel could see. Only stories of her friends or Professor Hoffbauer enlivened her.  Rick tried to tell a story about a man named Thomas, and Cov grew stiff and steered him away.  Rick stared at her, challengingly.  She turned to Mel. 

            "Handsome rich boy.  Good in bed, but not much of a good person.  I feel a bit embarrassed about that," she said.  The last line was to Rick, but felt like it was to both of them.

            "Southerner?" Mel asked.  Cov caught and loved Mel's dig at her and grinned. 

            "English, but yes," she said. 

            "I made some bad choices those days," Rick said. 

            "Oh, yeah?" Cov said, cocking an eyebrow. 

            "Some good ones, too," Rick said, as if conceding.  "Young and dumb was the name of the game."

            "Nonsense," Cov said, obviously in jest. "We were the educated elite of a great empire." 

            "Two actually," Rick said, nodding, as if terribly impressed. "How 'bout you, Mel?" Rick said.  "Did you get suckered into school?"

            "Yes," Mel said, though her tone evidence that she wasn't quite sure of the phrasing. 

            "Didn't hate it?" Rick asked, tipping his head forward just a bit, like a fox perking its ears, Mel thought. 

            "No. I have to admit," she said.

            "Good for you," Rick said, though he obviously had no idea how that was even possible. 

            "Mel's a real refined lady," Cov said.  Mel gave her a hard look.  Rick looked back and forth between the two of them and decided not to interfere.  He smiled a bit as he took a drink.  Mel still had her eyes locked on Cov's, who still had it in her to be challenging, but kept it in check. 

            They stayed out until one and took a taxi to their hotel.  Mel could practically feel Cov's annoyance at paying for a ride.  She kept her composure, however, and was nice to the man.  Mel teased her about it inside. 

            "Was I nice?" Cov asked, nervously. 

            "To the man?  Oh, yes," Mel said.  "You just hated every minute of it."  Cov smiled and shrugged her agreement.  "Doesn't suit your bohemian lifestyle?" Mel teased, bringing back the tone of their earlier banter right away. 

            "I'm no bohemian," Cov laughed.  "I don't make art." 

            "What are you?" Mel asked. 

            "A vagabond," Cov joked.  "How about you, Mel?  What's the word for you?"

            "They don't have words in English for what I am," Mel said and pressed her glasses with a dignified air. 

            "How 'bout in Greek?" Cov said with a grin.

            "Maybe," Mel said, turning. 

            Her attention snapped back then to Cov's face.  She caught suddenly that it wasn't just a joke, it was a flirtation.  Cov tossed her coat on the bed, still holding on to her grin.  It was a flirtation, no question, just an extremely subtle one. _How often does this happen?_ Mel thought.  She'd have to keep a closer eye on Covington, she realized, as they both turned and started to get ready for bed. 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If impatient for the sex, just skip to chapter five).

            Mel drove them out of Paris when they left.  They'd spent a day in the Louvre.  Covington surprised Mel, when Mel thought to ask her the impossible question of what was her favorite art piece.  Cov led them down a number of halls and presented to Mel Antonio Canova's "Cupid and Psyche," a delicate, Neoclassical marble sculpture.  Mel stared and stared at it.

            "What?" Cov said.  Mel had to blush.

            "I thought it'd be a painting about war or something," Mel said.

            "Hah!" Covington said in a haughty manner, as if she'd bested Mel. A shush came floating towards them from an unseen guard.  They barely noticed. 

            "What about you?" Cov said.  "What's your favorite piece of art?"

            "Mine's in Florence," Mel said.  "Michelangelo's 'Slaves.'  Not the ones here, the unfinished ones." 

            "Why the unfinished ones?" Cov asked. 

            "Lots of reasons," Mel said, mysteriously.  Cov smiled gently and didn't ask anymore questions.

            Something about this exchange and the museum brought a new mood between them. Mel always noticed these subtle shifts when suddenly they seemed more intimate.  Mel dragged them for dinner into a place with chickens roasting over open flames after Cov stopped and stared at them a moment in dumb awe like a house dog and made no sign she would think to go in.

            "So why Cupid and Psyche?" Mel asked, as they made their way along the rode back that evening. 

            "Why not?" Cov asked.  Mel gave the softest laugh and ignored Cov's response. 

            "You love the story?" she asked.

            Cov thought over Mel's question for a moment.  She realized, consciously for the first time, how much Mel loved books, words, stories.  She wrote carefully in her journal every night, recording the day, focusing as hard as she would on any other important piece of work.  And Mel always carried books, a bag-full, that she'd exchange in shops around Europe, especially when she found works written in English.  There were two books she would never trade in – a copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses and a book of poetry by an American woman.  Cov could not remember her name, but she remembered Mel reading her a poem, late at night on the dig, about a blue flower and heaven.  Cov thought it was beautiful at the time, lying on her cot late at night in the sweltering heat and falling asleep with Mel's voice floating over her from across the tent.  She remembered once watching Mel as she read, lost in complete focus, her hand resting with the backs of her fingers in the middle of her chest, and seeing her fingertips tremble as she reached to turn the page. 

            "Nah, not the story," Cov said.  She had her arm propped up on the open window and felt the air growing cool and damp with the coming of evening. 

            "Well, what then?  It's got to be something.  How does it make you feel?  What do you think about?" Mel asked.  Cov smiled, glancing over at Mel.  She could be so serious and silent one moment, then turn so curious and playful she seemed ready to shake words out of Cov the next. 

            "I don't know," Cov said, trying to think of an answer to Mel's question.  "It's the line of it, how they're touching… you know, the feel of the thing." Her mind settled then on one association she made.  She grew silent, and it seemed like Mel could feel her thought under the surface.

            "What?" Mel said, glancing over, curious.  Cov breathed out the smallest laugh. 

            "Well, I guess it reminds me of the past," Cov said. 

            "Of a lover?" Mel said with a quick push at her glasses.

            "Yeah," Cov admitted.  In her current mood, Mel was not even about to hide her interest in knowing more about Cov's history and what Cov was like as a lover. 

            "Which lover?" Mel asked.  Cov glanced over. 

            "My first one," she said. 

            "Tell me about it," Mel said.  She adjusted herself in the seat, as if preparing for Cov's story. She was so eager with interest, Cov smiled and felt her own reserve melt.  She wouldn't mind to tell Mel the story.  She had to collect in from her memories, though. She'd never told anyone the story before.  At least, not in this frame.  She'd told the facts, but Mel wanted to know how she _felt_.

            So she geared up, lit a cigar, and did her best to tell Mel the story. Cov spent the later part of her childhood in northern Denmark in a town near an American army base with a little cluster of other Americans who were mostly workmen, living with her father, who left often to go on business.  She explained how there were several boys around her age, one whose name was Willy Grace.  His father was a traveling salesmen, and he and his two brothers would take turns filling up the empty seats of their father's car each summer.  The first summer Willy remained, Cov was thirteen, and he was fourteen.  They'd made friends trading American comics and spent that summer running out to the ponds and streams at night to fish and swim, slap-boxing and practicing marbles at Willy's place.  They led a conquest of the town's boys that year and won so many of their marbles, they sold them back for cash before the beginning of the school year, at a fifty-fifty split, as Cov recounted. 

            The next summer Willy remained, Cov was sixteen, and he was seventeen. Willy had a job manning an outpost of a logging camp, keeping the stove lit and an eye on things, making sure no one came in and took out the trees that had been felled during the night. Cov would come out, she said, and stay in the shed with him.  Cov grew shy when she came to the point of describing being lovers with Willy. So Mel asked her questions.

            "Did you kiss him first or did he kiss you?" Mel asked. This made Cov laugh for some reason.

            "A little of both," she said.  "We were wrestling around on the ground.  I forget what for."

            "Was it good from the start?" Mel asked.

            "Lord, yes," Cov said with great conviction.

            "Was it usually during the day or during the night?" Mel asked.

            "Night," Cov said.  "When he worked."   

            "Was it usually in the dark or in the light?" Mel asked. Cov glanced over with a half-smile at this, marveling at the specificity of Mel's questions.

            "Half-light, I'd say.  A lantern and a bit of glow from the stove," she said. 

            "Was it a hot summer?" Mel asked.

            "Not at night.  Almost never," Cov said. 

            "What did you lay on?" Mel asked.  Cov grinned.  She gave a very specific answer. 

            "A narrow bunk that had a thin, new mattress without lumps. He had a scratchy grey blanket and pale blue sheets.  We had to both lay on our sides to fit if we wanted to sleep," Cov said.

            "Did your folks know?" Mel asked.

            "My daddy?  No. His daddy, I'm not sure," she said.  "Maybe after."

            "Were you scared of getting pregnant?" she asked. 

            "No," Cov said.  "We didn't start out that way.  And I knew what I was doing before we did."

            "Did you see each other during the day?" Mel asked.

            "Sometimes. We'd smile at each other. We never made a big thing of it in town," she said.

            "How long was your affair?" Mel asked. 

            "Months," Cov said.  "It went on after summer ended.  Less frequent, though, then.  We didn't really have a good place anymore." 

            Mel imagined a young Covington, hand in hand with a wild lover, traipsing through the woods.  She could see them making love on a blanket nestled in the base of a tree. She thought it rather romantic.

            "What was his body like?" Mel said. 

            "Lord," Cov blustered, actually drawing her hat from her head.

            "I'm just asking," Mel said, benign.  "I'm wondering why you're reminded of him by the sculpture."  Cov thought for a minute. 

            "No, not, not really similar.  He had a nice… he was nice," she said, glancing nervously at Mel. "Different shaped. A bit more muscle." Cov actually bit her lip, trying to find the right words to say.  "It's just something about them – they way their bodies connect."  She glanced over at Mel again, clearly uncomfortable.  "Lord," she said, incredulous, "I don't know what to say." 

            _The way their bodies connect._ Mel thought this over. She had a sense she knew what Cov meant now that she said this.  It seemed to fit somehow, with Cov. 

            "I think I get what you mean," she said.  Cov seemed to relax again, as if her mission were accomplished. 

            "So what happened after that?" Mel said. 

            Cov recounted how she'd had her first real fight that year – not a play fight, but a dangerous one.  She tried to explain what it felt like to realize that she could have been killed, as she stood shaking after she got home.  Before it ended, she had fractured a man's scull with a ball-peen hammer.  She didn't know whether she was more worried that she had killed the man or that friends or family of his would come after her.  She traded ten US dollars she had saved, an axe, and a pile of her American comics for a Smith and Wesson pistol and a handful of cartridges. She started to carry it everywhere. When the first chance to dodge town came, she took it, then took a train to meet her father that spring.

            "What happened with Willy?" Mel asked. 

            "I don't know," Cov said.  "We said goodbye and everything.  I guess it didn't feel so sad by then."

            "He wasn't upset to see you go?" Mel asked. 

            "No, he was," Cov said.  "It just didn't seem like there was an alternative.  It wasn't something to worry on."

            Mel felt distressed by Cov's story, where violence seemed to have taken her away from love. 

            "Did you love him?" Mel asked.

            "Well, sure," Cov said.  "He was a beautiful man," she added.  Her tone was light and somehow reverent. 

            "So is Rick," Mel said.  Cov smiled, warmly.

            "I've got good taste, just about always," she said.  She looked over at Mel a long time.   Mel felt herself grow very red. She looked in the side mirror to distract herself.  And then looked out at the road. 

            "What about you, Mel?" Cov asked. 

            "What about me?" Mel said. 

            She'd grown so nervous even before her words came out, she surprised herself. The anxiety was clear in her voice.  Cov sat quiet, and Mel was too thrown to know what she could read of Mel's mood.  The idea of telling Cov about her first love clearly imbalanced her. 

            "What do 'The Slaves' remind you of?" Cov asked.  It took just a moment for Mel to piece together the question, going back to how their conversation began.  

            "Oh," she said.  She did not bother to try and cover her misunderstanding, though she wondered what Cov might make of this.  She thought hard instead about this, trying to piece together her answer. 

            "Everything about them," she said.  "Their pain, their dignity, how you can feel them emerge. It's like they're willing themselves to be made, to rise up out of the stone and out of their chains. You can feel the creative act, poised, eternal.  That's not what he meant to capture, but he did."

            "That's a lot better than my answer," Cov said. 

            "No, it isn't," Mel said, in a tone at once surprised and genuine.

            "Different anyway," Cov said. 

            "I'll say," Mel said. 

            Cov looked out the window into the dim light, thinking.  She was silent for the rest of the way. Mel thought she'd likely be a bit quiet over the next few days.  _It's like telling a story about her life wears her out a while_ , Mel thought.  Cov was tireless in so many ways, it felt surprising to Mel. She'd been gathering these stories about Cov's life, one at a time, collecting them in her own heart and mind.  She doubted anyone else knew them.  She rolled over each part of Cov's story in her mind, trying to picture her young, picture the young man she'd made love to about a hundred times on cool summer nights on a little bunk heated by a battered wood-coal stove. 

            She thought it was a great story, a first love that really suited Cov. She thought over her embarrassment at the idea of sharing her own story of her first lover with Covington. She could feel, beyond words in the sense of who Cov was that came off her as she sat leaning into the door, that Cov would be a perfectly fine person to tell.  She would have no judgments or strange reactions to anything Mel said about herself.  It was her own discomfort, she realized, with the story that, though it never felt particularly inspiring, had not bothered her before. 

            Mel found it easy, now, as they drove through the dark, to see why. Her final year of grade school, still living at home in Carolina, Mel took up with Henry Peddleton, an extremely tall man from a wealthy family.  He had a gentle demeanor despite his enormous presence.  He refused his father's favorite game of fox hunting, which Mel despised, and loved quail hunting and horse riding, both of which she liked just fine.  He played field hockey, though she could not precisely tell why. 

            They seemed a good match, almost an inevitable one.  He stood a full head taller than Mel. They were both a bit quiet in company.  Their families had equal wealth and stature, in their own ways.  Mel's father had just won the Nobel prize.  Henry, she felt, was the only man who asked her on a date that year for reasons entirely unrelated to her father's career.

            Mel started an undergraduate in South Caroline in the next year about a half hour away from Henry, who left Charleston when he graduated. Soon after they became lovers. Mel supposed she imagined then that's what progressive women did – made love to their partners before marriage. It hadn't occurred to her at the time to decipher precisely _why_ she had chosen Henry.  Or rather, she never questioned her own desire for Henry either way.  They never had particularly bad experiences together in bed.  But Mel primarily remembered them both seeming stressed about the whole ordeal.  They never talked about if or why they'd decided to become lovers.  They just did.

            Their first couple of months presented actual physical difficultly. Mel had done her research (that's how she'd thought of it then) about sex.  She had broken her hymen playing sports and did not imagine she'd have an difficulty making love to Henry the first time.  In reality, they had many awkward experiences of hurting each other and finding ways to make love in other ways over the course of nearly two months before Mel could take Henry inside her easily. After that it was simpler and more comfortable between the two of them. 

            Mel still remembered fondly the feel of Henry's body overtop of her, the vast expanse of his back and his great round shoulders.  She liked his taste and his smell.  She liked his hands, big and strong, yet still delicate.  She liked the great mountain his body made as he slept in a bed beside her. She liked his five o'clock shadow, surprisingly soft rather than scratchy, and hoped one day he'd grow out his beard.  It would have been full and a deep, rich brown like his hair.  

            The only thing really repugnant about Henry was his family, whose presence made him go silent and stand rigid as a soldier, clutching at a crystal tumbler of fine whisky as if for dear life, Mel always thought.  And he avoided them as much as possible. He barely let them meet Mel, shielding her, she felt.  She had no complaints there. 

            But that was just it, there was nothing about Henry that particularly excited Mel.  Nor anything the other way around.  They had separated slowly, incrementally during her sophomore year, as Mel grew more and more dedicated to her studies.  Mel had more or less noticed they were no longer seeing each other.  And when she saw Henry with Amelia Thrift, an elegant blonde woman a year older than Mel, she actually felt a sense of relief. Henry glanced at her nervous, and Mel nodded lightly to him.  She saw his shoulders shift in a way she knew meant he felt deep relief. She noticed how his eyebrows were furrowed, as he sat bent towards the table where they sat, trying to fit and match his proportions to the other men at his table.  He was thinking, Mel was sure, over what had happened between them, uncertain whether he should feel bad about it. Mel hoped he would not, thought she was not sure whether she herself did. 

            She was never in the least at risk of being heartbroken over Henry. Perhaps that made him safe, a good choice at the beginning.  But she honestly suspected that they had not chosen one another at all, despite all that happened between them.  They were just following the motions, the script of their town's play. If college hadn't created some disruption, Mel wondered if they might have followed those steps right into marriage and children.  She wondered, and it made her shudder in the deepest part of herself. 

            Mel focused on her studies and avoided dates over the next year or more. Strange to think now that the next lover she'd have after Henry would be a woman.  She had no full explanation for it. Sarah was the opposite of Henry in terms of her relationship with Mel.  She was the best friend Mel could remember having in her life up to then. They complimented one another in their views, temperaments, and studies.  They shared most of the same friends.  In other circumstances, they probably would have kept to a close friendship. Something about that time and that place allowed them to become lovers.  Perhaps they would still be in contact now if they'd met in those different circumstances. 

            Mel had had two broken hearts.  The one she recognized, over Sam, but the one over Sarah she had not been able to recognize at the time.  She remembered herself during that time of her life almost without any emotions. She could only remember her thoughts and the work she was doing.  When Sarah broke things off with her, they were in their final year of study. It all seemed very rational and inevitable.  Mel did not remember even considering crying over it.  She felt flooded by work and the adamant search for a graduate school placement or a job.  

            When Mel came home over her final break, her father was waiting for her at the train platform with their dog, Bo, like always.  He stood in a blue suite with an umbrella at his side, she could remember.  It had been raining, but the sun was out a moment.  He already smiled at a distance, recognizing Mel as she made her way up the platform.  But as she drew close, she saw his smile fade.  A look of concern and almost alarm was in his face. 

            Mel felt Bo's paws as they hit her waist, and she heard his excited barks. She remembered the feel of his ears in her hands, as she looked into her father's distressed face. Somehow his look served as a mirror.  Mel could feel something was wrong with her.  She felt as if she had been hollowed out.  She almost felt like a ghost standing on the platform.  She wasn't material like everyone else. They could walk through her, it seemed.    

            Her father leaned in and hugged her, a hug that was warmer and longer than usual. Bo's head pushed against her hand and their legs.  To her surprise, her father took Mel's hand as he led them out of the station, as he would have when she was a girl. 

            "What's wrong, Mel?" he asked her frankly on the road home.

            "I'm fine.  Just been working too much," she said. 

            Her father sat silent and serious.  He was an academic himself, and he did not believe a word. She thought about it as she watched the familiar stretch of road pass by.  She was sad, she realized, with a sadness so deep it felt a part of her, of who she was.  She had not been able to separate it out as an experience.  She knew it was over Sarah.  It must be in regards to Sarah.  Nothing else had changed.   

            When she looked in the mirror in her room, she saw what her father had seen. Mel had grown thin, and her expression had been altered.  She could not quite place the change.  She color was pale and her face was lined in new ways.  There had to be a story written beneath. Even she could see it now.

            Her father made several attempts to gain her confidence during the break. She could tell that he took her with him on more walks and drives than he would have.  He framed his question in several ways. He even asked her about her eating habits, which she thought decidedly strange.  He asked her about men, and when Mel grew quieter, he could sense it.  He gave her a sort of awkward if genuine series of encouragements about herself during the break. Mel found she could not speak. She could not speak to him of Sarah. Even when she felt inclined to try to tell him the truth, she could not think what to say. 

            In his search to find a way to help her, Mel's father settled in to reading her poetry every evening, as she lay on the couch beside him in front of the fireplace.  Melbourne Covington had been ever the innovator as a researcher, instructor, and parent. His words were healing in a way Mel could not explain.  She had taken up buying and reading books of poetry every since. 

            At the end of that year, she headed up to New York.  She seemed to gain a new sense of energy and happiness along with the change.  She spent little time at parties, and she engaged in a few flings.  Nothing seemed to stick, however.  She got a second degree, and she landed a job anyone would have been proud to take. Only one affair stood out during that time, with a woman named Rosie.  That lasted only some weeks surrounding New Year. 

            Mel had one long-term partner since then, in New York, just as she finished her degree, and that was Sam.  Sam was unlike other men.  His mind was someplace else entirely.  He never once tried to impress Mel.  He was nearly always happy.  He liked Mel and told her so the first day they met.  He took her on dates, mostly to the movies and to silly places.  He loved to talk and walk, and Mel wore boots whenever she went to see him.  As they grew more involved, he reached to take her hand one day during a walk through Central Park.  He never even stopped his sentence, just took her hand in his, a habit between them from then on. 

            They became lovers, and Mel could not even remember exactly how it had all unfolded. She'd never been more comfortable with anyone than she felt with Sam.  He never minded that Mel was smart or that Mel was tall.  He liked both and took a different side of her seriously than almost anyone she had met in life.  It was this, Mel felt, more than anything, that allowed them to become such good lovers.  Mel could sit naked with Sam and never feel self-conscious.  She could make love with Sam in the full light or move over top of him if she wanted and easily look into his face. Their bodies fit together better, as well, than with Henry.  This made it easier at the start.  Sam touched a place deep inside of her that made a heat build inside that would spill out all through her.  Mel learned to really enjoy her own pleasure with Sam, who loved to see it.

            In every way, he was a lovely man.  Sam's family had planned all his life for him to build the family's wealth, but unlike his older two brothers, he never showed an interest in his father's firm. Sam cared all the time about how people were feeling.  It distracted his mind, his father thought, from business.  Mel thought it lucky both that he had been born the youngest and that he had developed an interest early on in film, otherwise the Wellington dynasty might have been threatened by Sam.  God knows what they would have done to him to keep him in line.

            He headed off to Hollywood, and Mel was not willing to leave her job and go with him at the time.  Mel could remember how sad she felt when he left.  Sam was certainly her best friend.  She thought about him and so felt his absence in what seemed every moment of waking life for days upon days.  She dreamed of him, as well, for months.  Sam and Mel wrote to each other at least once a week for two and a half years.  The intimacy slowly faded out of their letters. 

            Finally, he asked her if he could call.  And Mel wrote back with a time and a day.  They spoke over the phone at her office one evening. She hadn't heard Sam's voice in a long time.  Mel barely remembered the first part of their talk, but she could remember the end.

            "Look, there's someone out here I been thinking of seeing," Sam said. "I wanted to just call and see for sure.  Is there still a chance you'll come out and be with me again, Mel?" 

            "No. I don't suppose so," Mel said. 

            "Well, alright then," Sam said.  "I didn't want to lose a good thing if I had a choice about it."  There was a short silence in which Mel felt unsure what to say. 

            "Good luck, Sam," Mel said.  She found herself a little sad but genuinely hoping that Sam would get what he wanted. 

            "Thanks," he said. 

            They still wrote sometimes.  Sam was married to the woman he'd started seeing, Lillian was her name, and had a daughter, Christine.  He once sent her a picture.  He seemed to really love his family.  And he loved his work, there was no question. 

            Mel couldn't picture herself in Hollywood still.  Though, on occasion, she might touch on some memory and find herself very much missing Sam.  She missed how her life felt when they were together.  It had been such a good time.  A letter seemed enough to stave it off nowadays, though she never would have thought that'd be the case in all their days together. She thought Sam was a finer companion than she used to imagined God made.  He had surprised Mel, and she felt grateful she found him in a hundred ways. 

            It was a different sadness than with Sarah.  Healthier, Mel thought.  Her heart had healed more properly, somehow, in regards to Sam. There wasn't that same sense of loss.  It was just sadness – not grief.  That's what Mel felt when she thought of Sarah, grief.  That’s what she had seen in her face that day when she looked at herself in the mirror.  And it never really went away.  It had no air. She would carry it in her heart, she felt, for the rest of her life.  Though it grew easier over time. 

            _I should tell Cov that_ she thought, _about that grief_. Somehow, she felt, Cov would listen.  She always listened closely to what Mel had to say.  Maybe she would have something to say, something that would help Mel to draw the meaning out of it.  She pictured it like a shadow whose shape she could never quite distinguish fully that plagued her.  She wanted to tell Cov about all her lovers, every detail of how she remembered them. Yet she had not spoken a single word of them.  Her past was a mystery to Cov, at least the details, the stories themselves unsaid. Where should she begin, Mel wondered. 

            Mel thought through her past lovers:  Henry, Sarah, Rosie, Sam, and a handful of relative strangers sprinkled in between.  Maybe she could start with Sam.  She could not shake an aura of shame that seemed to come over her when she really thought of telling Cov about all these things.  It was a familiar shame.  It seemed lighter, though, these days, like a cloak she would shrug off someday. She used to feel it all the time, not even something she named.  It was a part of her, part of the air.  She remembered how bad it had been while she was with Sarah.  They were lovers in secret, even among some of their own friends.  Mel carried it with her everywhere, partly conscious, partly pressed away.  Sam had made a huge difference.  Something about their relationship allowed Mel to feel less shame. Still, she had never told him a word about her past lovers.  They never talked about such things.  Sam gave Mel privacy in every way. 

            Cov was a little like Sam in that way, though in almost no others. She never asked Mel questions about her past or her lovers.  Never asked Mel many questions at all, really.  The stark contrast in this stood out to Mel. 

            "Stop me if you ever get tired of the inquisition," Mel said.

            "How's that?" Cov said lightly, turning to her, away from the window.

            "If you ever get tired of all my questioning.  You're just really fascinating for me," Mel said. Cov grinned, Mel could make out in the dark, at this last comment. 

            "I like telling you things," Cov said.  "I just don't think of doing it on my own. You'll have to remind me sometimes."

            "Count on it," Mel said. 

            .

            Mel felt at home when they returned to their room in Clyde's little hotel. She'd miss it, whenever they did leave.  She noticed again she thought _we_. They would have to discuss it eventually, in some way.  Mel felt nervous when she thought about it.  She wondered how Cov might feel if she knew her thoughts.

            "I've got to make some inquiries back in New York tomorrow," she said. Cov nodded. 

            "Are you wanting to head back to the States?" Cov asked, stretching, her arms back behind her with her fingers entwined. 

            "Not if they'll give me another real job out here like they said," she answered.  "I made them think I might leave.  I wouldn't, but I don't want them tethering me to a desk for a while yet." Cov smiled and swung her arms back around front. 

            "When you think?" Cov asked. 

            "A while yet, I'd wager," Mel said.  Cov nodded, growing oddly sober.  She was standing at an angle to Mel and looked over at the darkened window.  Her hands were in loose fists, and Mel noticed how she worked her right hand. 

            "I'd like to go to England for a while," Cov said.  She looked at Mel.  "How about you?  What do you want, until you head out on a dig again?"    

            "I don't know.  Doesn't matter to me really," Mel said.  Cov was looking at her face, her look decidedly open and earnest. She seemed to be waiting for Mel to say something else.  There was a silence between them. 

            "Would you come with me?" Cov said.  Her tone was light and indicated that she assumed Mel had already understood that this was the underlying question. 

            "Sure," Mel said.  Cov gave the smallest grin with one side of her mouth and quickly turned away. She walked over to her bag and dug around inside to distract herself and break their interaction, Mel could tell.

            Mel stood there a moment replaying their words in her mind. She wished she'd revealed a little more of her own feelings.  They felt too big, too out of proportion to reveal.  They must be pouring out everywhere, she imagined. Though, of course, she knew they were not.  Cov only had what she expressed to go on.  She felt a sudden disappointment at her own cowardice.  Why did she not just say, _I want to go with you.  I want to stay with you._ That was the truth.  She turned to Cov, standing now in an over-sized shirt she slept in, folding one she'd just taken off.

            "Cov," Mel said mildly. 

            "Yeah," Cov said and turned. 

            "You want to come with me on the next job?" Mel asked. Cov smirked. 

            "Yeah," she said.  The smile deepened. "You gonna be my employer from now on?"  She moved to turn down the covers on the bed.  Mel huffed and smiled back. 

            "Precisely," she said.  "And you can be my driver." 

            "You don't need a driver anymore," Cov said. 

            "You don't need an employer either," Mel said.  Cov grinned, soft and gentle.  She climbed into the bed and settled against the pillow.

            Cov loved her, Mel thought, thinking over Cov's smile.  It filled her with an emboldening delight that felt at once new and familiar.  She thought back to those days of reading out loud to Cov in the truck, when Cov was still a stranger she felt irrevocably drawn to and not this best friend who slept next to her at night.  She seemed like such a different person now than the one in Mel's mind, fuller, more human.  Everything that showed on the surface then had proven real, but now she knew what felt like a hundred layers beneath. 

            _The discovery of Doctor Janice Convington_ , Mel thought, smiling at her own thoughts and imagining herself embarked upon a quest, as she settled into bed to lay with her hands buried into the pillow, behind her head. 

            "What's the worst thing about you I don't know, Cov?" Mel said. As always, Cov seemed unfazed by Mel's sudden questions.  She answered immediately, voice coming back from over her shoulder, as she lay on her side facing away from Mel. 

            "I slept with a Republican once back in the States," she said. Mel laughed.  "But it was just the one time," Cov said, through a yawn.   

            Mel lay still smiling.  Her thoughts started to relax, settling down to let her sleep.  Somehow, Mel felt, her lack of emotional honesty before had been substituted, at least in part, by her bringing up future jobs. She was picturing her life with Cov in it, and now Cov knew that much, at least.  She felt a little resolve to be more open with Cov some day. It pulsed within her like the breathing of a little weak-chested flame.  And she nurtured it, careful to make sure it would not die away. She pictured it, carefully, holding onto the image, hoping it would grow itself in her dreams.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If impatient for the sex, just skip to chapter five).

            Mel had never imaged she would talk about Sarah with anyone except Cov, but that was not how it turned out in the end.  They were spending the day with Genevieve, Patrice, and Adele. They'd eaten a light lunch and had a couple hours of conversation already that day.  Then they cooked a simple dinner and sat out on the patio.  For some reason, their conversation turned very serious that day.  They talked about the prospects of war. They talked about what affect this might have on the struggle for women's equality. 

            Mel was quite amazed to find out that Genevieve's aunt had been a spy for the French government during the Great War.  As a result, Genevieve held anti-war convictions of a remarkable depth.  The other three moved around during their discussion, but Genevieve remained adamant.  

            "We might go to America if war seems sure," Patrice said to Cov. Cov looked surprised, though she did not seem upset. 

            "It is sure.  Our governments know no other way," Genevieve said. 

            "Would you join?" Cov asked Patrice.  He looked very stern.  He sighed.   
            "I think not," he said.  "I'd have to be willing to give up my marriage for one thing." 

            "I would never leave you over such a thing," Genevieve said, and Mel could tell he had been joking slightly, as he glanced at her. "But you would never come back, just the same.  I would protest every step of the way.  I would not allow my husband or my sons to be used for cannon fodder."

            "I wondered if I might join," Cov said. 

            "Do not joke about such things, Covington," Genevieve said. She now looked even more upset, imagining Patrice and Cov going to war.  "They would really take you.  If they knew what you were like, even just your bravery and your aim, not to mention your intelligence, they would have you doing spy-work same as my aunt in her day.  They would use you up."  The last phrase held great weight and caught in Mel's mind, _They would use you up_. 

            "I'm not joking, really," Cov said.  "I just always felt it didn't matter once a war was on. You have to do your part just the same. Someone's got to do the fighting and the dying, and there's no reason to think you should be the one to get out of it."  Genevieve shook her head, very concerned.  Patrice nodded in a sort of conflicted agreement with Covington.

            "So my brothers thought," he said.  "They were good and proud men." 

            "And now they are dead," Genevieve said.  Cov would later explain that Patrice was twenty years younger than his older brothers, who had both died in the trenches.  He never met either one.  His parents had him late in life to try and make up for their loss.

            "Perhaps it is just their memory that makes me feel guilty," he said.

            "It is war rhetoric and nothing more.  Recruitment fables, many of them repeated by your family to make their loss easier," Genevieve said, quite in earnest.  Her words seemed harsh, but she spoke them with a sensitivity that amazed Mel.  Patrice seemed to struggle with this and agree, and so did Cov.

            "Maybe that's it for me," Cov said.  "My father fought, as well.  He survived, but maybe that has to do with my views. They don't seem to have much behind them." 

            "I could kill Germans easy," Genevieve said.  She snapped her fingers.  Mel could feel she was deadly serious. She imagined she might even find connections to government work easier than most given her heritage. "Like that. I would tell myself I defended my family.  I would tell myself I did my part to prove women strong.  I would be lying.  These rich men, it is their war, for their reasons." 

            "Still, anyone would feel moved to protect their family," Patrice said. "If France were occupied, we would all want to fight on our own.  Perhaps it is easier for us to imagine going, because we have not lived here for half our lives." 

            "And yet you must go out and find these men, no?" Genevieve said. "They say you get so much as a citizen of France, so you must fight as one when she goes to war. They say you defend your home. But there is fighting during peacetime. We women, we have not even yet the fight to vote.  They would withhold it from men, as well, if they could.  For each benefit we gain as citizens of France, we have fought and won against those in power.  The people are always at war.  Yet they speak as if these things were given as gifts, and we must owe something to our nation.  They speak with two faces, at all times." 

            "Still, it might help the cause of women to be seen during the war," Cov said.  Genevieve scoffed.

            "Maybe. Maybe you are right. I simply will not die in war, not by choice.  Let me be shot to death in the streets of France, carrying the banner of a cause other than war. Let me be like Emily Davison crushed under the hooves of the King's horse.  Let my daughter remember me that way.  I will not be remembered as a mother who died for war. You do not fight with true honor if you mean to kill others.  Only if the only life you offer is your own," Genevieve said.

            "I do not think I would fight," Patrice said.  He shook his head.  "I could carry the idea that I killed to protect my family, but I would know the men I killed were told the same.  Still, one wishes to hold onto honor." Adele left her solitary game and come to sit on his lap, and he held her close.  She was growing tired, Mel could see. 

            "Angels have white feathers," Genevieve said.  Patrice ran his hands through Adele's hair. He and Cov still struggled, Mel could see, with Genevieve's ideas. 

            They spoke then of women's equality and moved away from talk of war. Patrice, rather than Genevieve, seemed most enraged by this topic.  He felt ashamed of France that they still had not granted women the vote, and he felt too little had been done in the last years by the citizens. Genevieve seemed dedicated and discouraged, as well.  She did not want to go to America, Mel realized, for this reason.  Cov told her there was plenty still to fight for there. She dismissed this, saying there was nothing of more value than the vote. Mel had spoken little before, but she weighed in on this, trying to encourage Genevieve about the potential for unity among women internationally. 

            "All their focus will change once there is war," Genevieve said.

            "They will cycle back around," Patrice said.  "The same issues plague us at all times.  We have the government's ear on some, then others.  But there is always something to be gained for women. They have been neglected so long.

            "Even among us," he went on, "There is bigotry.  We go in to the meetings and the rallies in Paris. Genevieve has not been invited to speak once –  _once_ ," he said.  "I have been invited four times!  I am a shy man with little voice.  She is a lion.  But they need men, they say, to speak, so the public will hear them.  It is an outrage."

            "It is no harm to women if we can depend on such men," Genevieve said.

            "Maybe," Patrice said, "But it ought to be on merit, and we ought to show no shame." 

            "Still, you must allow your own power to used, even if it should not be," Genevieve said.  "I gained so much from our marriage.  How little do the women who refuse to partner with men have.  You might be a gift, not a chain."

            "Perhaps, like you, they choose it for love and not for politics," Patrice said.  Cov seemed unconvinced.

            "Some do, some don't," Cov said. 

            "Yes, I think it is true," Genevieve said.  "I had by inner disputes," she glanced at Cov. They shared a knowing look and a smile.

            "You are right I am sure," Patrice said, "But there must be just as many women who refuse what they love to be with men.  As you say, in marrying a man you have gained. Some would not be so brave as to decide otherwise, even for love."  This thought brought an aura of distress over them all. Mel had said little, but she decided to speak now. 

            "I know that must be true for some.  I always worry I would not side with my heart if I were pressed," Mel said. 

            "There are so many who are poor who cannot even marry for love," Genevieve added. 

            "The wealthy might feel there is more at stake," Cov weighed in. She glanced at Mel, as if to see if she would speak on this.  Mel nodded. 

            "I know that's the case for some," Mel said. 

            "A friend?" Genevieve asked. 

            "A lover I had when I was young," Mel said.  "She gave up what we had to be with a man. She did not talk of it in terms of how she felt about either of us."

            "What did she talk about?" Genevieve asked.  Both she and Patrice looked incredibly sad.

            "We barely spoke of it at all," Mel said.  "I knew it was her family and their reputation. It seemed impossible that she would not marry, and he was a good catch.  I could not even consider speaking to dissuade her, not if I really was her friend." 

            "You see," Patrice said, quite animated.  "It is like I said."  Genevieve was already nodding, her brows knitted. He glanced to Cov, who looked very attentive.  Genevieve explained. 

            "We were reading some of those things you read before," she said, indicating Cov and the materials they had saved her.  "We were saying how it might seem all these outside things that keep us in control shape who we love.  But Patrice said he feels it goes the other way."

            "This shows what I mean," he said.  "When one has so much and still cannot follow one's love. It is not so simply as material need or gain."  Cov actually leaned forward and put her hands flat on the table, she was so attentively listening to this. 

            "They get inside you," he said.  "If they can control your sexuality, they can control you utterly.  If you cannot know what you desire with your own heart and your own body, they have you. These disputes of the mind we speak of, they are real, but they are perhaps a trivial thing.  The real work goes on underneath, under the skin. Even if your choices move over only slightly, so long as they are not your own, you cannot resist such control.  Women and men, both of us, we obey."  He tapped his own chest, over his heart, as he tried to explain.  Mel felt herself actually grow pale at his words. Genevieve and Cov both looked grim. 

            "I think you must be right," Mel said and brought her hand to run over her face, as she shook her head.  The other two nodded and conceded. 

            "She traded her heart in perhaps, your friend," Patrice said. "I would have at least asked her about it."  He looked very distressed.  "These ought not to be the choices of women," he said and grew openly angry. Adele grew restless in his lap, and this distracted and calmed him.  Mel got a sense that perhaps he was not asked to speak in Paris so flippantly as he had suggested. 

            "They will not be our choices forever," Cov said.  "Women are bold.  Change will come."   

            Mel was grateful for Cov's presence at the table.  She had a confidence that seemed to encourage the rest of them when their thoughts turned dim.  Mel had loved from the start how this family affected Cov. Since then, she had learned enough of Patrice and Genevieve to get a sense of how Cov affected them. Genevieve's temperament tended to be a bit serious.  Patrice was similar in this way, though his was gentler, Mel thought.  Cov's humor, her playfulness, brought a liveliness to them both. 

            Cov had a strange affect on Genevieve, and somehow even when they spoke alone, they seemed to be enjoying some kind of competition.  They actually invented, together, odd and competitive games.  They started playing one of these, in an impromptu manner, after they'd put away their plates and their heavy conversation after dinner.  Mel felt somewhat confused, but Patrice ignored them. It involved a shot of brandy and an empty tumbler.  Cov spun a silver dollar on the table.  Genevieve trapped it under the bottom of her tumbler, then looked at it.

            "Tails," she said with a grin.  Cov made a sound of disappointment. 

            "What's your worst fear?" she said. 

            "You know that already," Cov said. 

            "It is for Mel's entertainment," Genevieve claimed.  Cov gave her one-sided grin. 

            "That the world will never be any better than it is now," she said. Genevieve picked the coin up and spun it.  Cov trapped it this time. It was heads.  Cov made a sound of disapproval.  Genevieve smiled. 

            "What's your best memory?" Genevieve asked.  Rather than answer, Cov drank the shot of brandy.

            "Coward," Genevieve said.

            "Heckler," Cov said immediately.  They called Patrice over.  He sighed and played their game.  Cov spun the coin, and he trapped it.  It landed on tails.  He smiled a sort of apology, feeling slightly bad.  Mel could see it was not his game. 

            "When will you come and live with us?" he asked Cov.  Mel saw how flattered Cov was. 

            "I hope someday," she said.  "Maybe in America."  Patrice kissed her on the hair before he moved away.  Cov turned to Mel. 

            "Want a go?" she said.  Mel came over.  Genevieve spun the coin.  Mel trapped it. It landed on heads. Mel looked at Genevieve.

            "What do you see in this one?" Genevieve said. 

            "A hero," Mel said without deciding before she spoke. Genevieve smiled warmly at this. Cov's face was unreadable. She was still a bit coy from her interaction with Patrice before.  Mel started to walk away. 

            "Here, Mel.  You spin," Cov said.  Mel spun the coin, which wobbled and fell quickly, as Cov trapped it.  It landed on heads.  Cov gave a false, exaggerated sigh.  She looked up at Mel. 

            "It's hard to think of something I haven't asked already," Mel said, buying time.  Cov and Genevieve both looked at her quietly.  Even Patrice, Mel noticed, looked over from his chair.  "What was the first thing you thought when you met me?" Mel asked.  Cov's mouth made its one-sided grin, but her face looked overwhelmed. She actually started to reach for the shot of brandy, but she stopped. 

            "Tall," she said.  Genevieve blustered, indicating she felt Cov was cheating.  Cov grinned and glanced at Mel.  Her eyes were dancing.  Somehow, Mel felt it a compliment.  She rarely felt this way when anyone pointed out her height. Mel went back to her seat, and Cov and Genevieve seemed satisfied with their game. 

            Patrice came over and suggested they go for a walk.  He led the way, carrying Adele, to a wooded trail and a pond near their house.  The sun was low in the sky, and the air was cooling.  Adele seemed to know that place, and she went to the water's edge, both she and her parents unafraid. 

            Cov and Genevieve took up yet another game they invented together. The pond was surrounded by flat rocks, perfect for skipping.  They were both good at this, but they'd come up with a challenge for themselves at which they had never succeeded.  There were a few rock formations out in the water, and they tried to skip their rocks and get them to land on one these.  Apparently, they'd spent hours at it, since Cov fist visited them after they moved to this place. 

            Patrice seemed to find this terribly amusing, and Mel could see he, as he shook his head at them, that he, too, felt this goal was slightly insane. The two of them sat on a log near the shore.  Cov finally got a rock to land and stay that day.  Cov and Genevieve's response was absurd.  Rather than a competition, suddenly it had been a joint endeavor. They hugged and spun around, yelling and shouting in their joy.  Adele grew very excited and came over to them.  Cov picked her up and twirled her around, as well. Her laugher broke out across the water, a beautiful sound to hear. 

            Mel would always remember that image of Cov holding Adele and spinning, the smile on her face, and Genevieve beside and the pond behind the two of them. If she did not already consider herself to be somewhat in love with Cov, this moment allowed her to make up her mind.  There could be no doubt anymore.  Cov moved her more than anyone else ever had.  She was beautiful in a way Mel could not use words to describe, in any language.  

            They returned to their room just after sunset.  Patrice and Genevieve were early to bed because of Adele. They opened a bottle of wine and sat at the window.  Cov had brought ice from Genevieve and Patrice's, and she made them tumblers of whisky before it could melt.  Alone in their room that night, Mel sat watching Cov, as she sat smoking and sipping her whiskey.  She allowed her mind to imagine openly what it would be like to be lovers with Cov. She looked at Cov's hand on her glass and watched as she brought it to her lips.  She found that it was not easy.  Her mind played with the idea, trying to conjure something.  Perhaps Cov would be completely outgoing as a lover, and Mel would have to struggle to keep up with her.  That might be alright in the end. 

            Mel thought about Rosie; she was a bit like Cov. Mel remembered her always wearing green, though she knew that imagine wasn't accurate.  She wore flat shoes, otherwise she'd have been as tall as Mel.  Her full name was Rosalie McCullen.  She had freckles and red hair and fine features with a crick in her nose that made her more striking.  Everybody called her Red.  She had fallen in with the same circle as Mel, though she was a nurse in the army. Mel had seen her several time at parties and spoken with her a few times over the course of the winter. Mel remembered thinking she was nice, but that was about all at the time.

            They were at the same party on New Year's Eve.  After the countdown, every couple in the room kissed. Mel was sitting on the arm of a couch, holding a glass of Champaign, and feeling very fine.  Rosie caught her eye from across the room. She came over and kissed Mel full on the mouth in public without saying anything.  Mel collected herself, as Rosie walked away. She realized no in the room noticed or if they had noticed cared in the slightest. 

            The next time Mel saw her, Rosie came over with a smile for Mel. They started talking, not a word spoken about New Year's Eve.  Mel could not remember how they came to be walking along with sidewalk on their way to her place. 

            "You can call me, Rosie," Mel remembered her saying along the way. She remembered the precise tone of the phrase.  She remembered the affect it had on her heart.  It was clearly special permission.  Not everyone can call me that, the tone said, but you can.

            They had been fairly drunk at the time, but Mel was sure she had a harder time remembering some of the details of that first night because she had been simply overwhelmed.  More or less what happened was they kissed a few times hard on the mouth just inside the door and went straightaway to Mel's room, where Rosie knelt down in front of Mel and took off her stockings, suspenders, and underwear.  She pushed up Mel's skirt and sat her back on the edge of the bed.  She remembered Rosie kissed her way up her thigh, the closest thing they had to foreplay. Then Rosie's mouth was on her, and she fell back into the bed.  She remembered how that felt quite vividly, almost an epiphany for Mel. Everything else was the blur. She pulled Rosie up on top of her eventually.  They slept a while in Mel's bed.  She left that night unafraid to head out into the dark of New York at 3am. In the morning, a part of Mel wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. 

            They'd been together a handful of times after.  They were not always as drunk, and this changed their love making somewhat. How they matched one another stayed more or less the same.  Rosie always swept Mel up in her unabashed and rushed manner. Mel could not remember them being naked together once, though she remembered once looking down at various bits of clothing tossed on her floor, as Rosie reached around under her skirt from behind and with the other touched her breasts under her open shirt . Even thinking about it, Mel felt slightly breathless.  They always parted ways before morning, and Mel always felt there was something surreal about their encounter the next day.  She would be swept up in an hour or more or passion. It was dizzying in a way. She never felt bad when they parted ways.  They did not exchange any contact information when Rosie left the city, relocated she said to another base.  They hugged and kissed once.  That was it. They'd been together maybe six, seven times if Mel counted. 

            But it could never be quite like that with Cov, Mel realized, as she thought it through.  Rosie barely knew her, and the way it all played out between them felt dependent on this now. They could be free and light together, because there was simply nothing at stake, for either of them. It would have to feel different with Cov, because they already loved one another.  Mel swallowed, wondering if this would make it easier or harder for them both.  And if it might stop Cov from being interested all together. 

For whatever reason and against her will, Mel's mind drew out the most vivid memory of the most bold she had ever been in bed with Sarah. The memory was strange, drawing Mel down into the feel. There had been only a little light from the moon spilling in from the window, and they always kept close to one another. There were no images, because they always made love by feel. That night, they had somehow found a position lying on their sides pressed against one another, in which Mel had her arm under Sarah and around her, pressed against the lowest curve of her back. Her other hand pressed between Sarah's legs.  Sarah always felt so timid when they began, Mel could easily worry about whether she really wanted Mel to go on and to touch her in this way.  And yet, she always found her so wet, her body so sensitive. Always, that first touch caused a shift in Mel; her worry and all other thought would melt, as a new wave of comfort and desire came tumbling all through her.  In this position, Mel's height allowed them to kiss if she tipped her face up only slightly and Sarah turned her face down.  Sarah held Mel's face in her hands, moving them a few times to hold onto her neck, then back again.  Tonight, Mel touched her unlike usual, the passion kept less in check between them.  She pressed into Sarah's low back to move her body as she moved her hand. She remembered, so precisely that she felt now as if living fingers trailed down her spine, how Sarah broke out in sounds of pleasure that night, unwilled and uncharacteristic. When Sarah finished and lay holding Mel, Mel lay breathless and also overwhelmed.  She felt Sarah's pleasure had moved through her own body. Sarah moved suddenly to kiss Mel's mouth, softly, over and over again.  Mel simply held her and felt her kisses, delicate, searching. Remembering, it felt as if Sarah were just there, under the surface, reaching out to meet Mel.  And yet, her efforts felt so frail.

            Mel rubbed her own face in her hands, as she sat beside Cov in her chair. The memory did not help her decipher how things would be with Cov.  It would have to feel something like that, and yet it would have to feel entirely different.  She tried to imagine the intimacy of their friendship combining with the bravery and ease with which Cov always met life.  She would have to be a mismatch with herself, Mel realized.  Even at her most passionate, she found herself still the same person, still a bit of an observer, still shy.  Mel gave a sigh. 

            Cov looked ever at her.  Mel couldn't imagine Cov's thoughts, but her eyes raked over her quickly and went back to the window.  Cov seemed guarded in this moment, as she had been at all times when Mel first knew her. It made a contrast that showed how much Cov had opened herself up to Mel, to being known, since those early days. Perhaps it was a bad idea to try and be lovers, Mel thought.  It would break her heart, she felt, to lose this easiness that had grown between them.

            "Have you ever had your heart broken, Mel?" Cov asked, quite suddenly, turning her face, her eyes resting now on Mel.  And Mel knew, they must be thinking of the same things. Mel swallowed.

            Mel just nodded.  Her own heart had picked up a beat.  Cov turned away a moment, though her guarded look had faded away. 

            "Have you?" Mel asked.  Cov turned to her, a fluid motion, as she shifted in her chair and brought one hand to hold the back of her neck.

            "Not yet," she said.  Her eyes lingered on Mel, then she turned back and took a drink of her whiskey.

            "Do you think it was intentional?" Cov asked Mel. 

            Mel had to think over this a moment.  She could not feel what was underneath Cov's question. She thought for a moment that perhaps Cov was worrying she would hurt Mel.  Yet it seemed two-sided, the question. 

            "No, I don't think so," Mel said.  She thought about her two heartbreaks, Sam and Sarah. "I also think," Mel said, "That I would not give them up."

            Cov looked over at her, thinking deeply, and smiled at this. She took a drink, still focused on the dark windowpane.  Mel saw her bite her bottom lip.  She seemed lost in her own thought.  Cov took a deep breath, her face softening, and turned to Mel. 

            "I never been this close with anyone else," Cov said to Mel. It held a slight tone of confession, as if Cov were revealing something to Mel.  Her eyes were sharp and burned with intensity, her face serious, her brows still furrowed just slightly. 

            Mel leaned back in her chair and thought a moment, and a side of herself with profound depths and little tendency for doubt moved her to respond. She leaned over and reached out to squeeze Cov's arm, above the elbow. 

            "We got our own good thing going on," Mel said.  She released Cov's arm slowly.  Cov's face shifted, staying soft, into a one-sided grin. 

            Cov took a drink of her whiskey, and Mel brought her own cold glass to her lips.  That moment seemed to break the mood between them.  They were easy now.  It didn't matter, Mel thought, if they became lovers and what it was like when they did. They would find out then.

            She found it difficult to feel unsafe with Covington.  Even if they hurt each other without meaning to, nothing could take these past months away.  Mel was a different person already.  Cov catalyzed a shift in her, in her very being. She made her more of who she was beneath. 

            Mel stood up after a while and stretched her back.  Cov glanced over at her, and she finished the last of her drink and set her tumbler on the ground by the leg of her chair. Mel moved over to the desk to turn the radio on.  She fiddled with the stations, looking for some music.  Cov stood and went to the side table to put out her cigar, which was barely smoldering now and had grown thick ashes during her neglect. She stretched her own arms, feeling the confidence deep in her own body.  She turned to Mel, who was bent slightly, leaning into the desk. Without meaning to, Cov ran her eyes over Mel's body and down her legs.  She wore the maroon shirt she'd had on the day Cov met her, another loose, ivory shirt, and a pair of well-matched stockings. Otherwise, her feet were bare. The beauty of her figure caused Cov a sharp sort of pang.  _Good Lord_ , was her only remotely coherent thought. 

            She bit her lip again, concentrating, as she looked over at Mel. _Maybe you should ask her if she wants to kiss sometime_ , Cov thought. It'd be that simple with anyone else.  But her mouth went dry, at once.  She licked her lips and swallowed.  She searched for her drink, realized it was empty, then went to the desk and retrieved her wine.  She took a sip of it, the sensation of it hot on her mouth, as it was warm and had a strong element of spice.  She looked back up at Mel and pressed her hands to the base of her shirt in the back, standing awkwardly she could feel.  She turned away, on an impulse, as Mel stood up from the radio.  She felt uncomfortable with the idea of ever being that forward with Mel.  Mel was a real lady, Cov thought, although she really did not know in this case what that ought to mean. 

            Mel had stepped back, listening to the station she'd brought in, and turned to Cov to see if it met with her approval.  She found Cov distracted, her brows knitted, her attention far away.  Cov looked so beautiful, her sleeves rolled up, her body rigid, hatless with her hair back in a single braid, standing barefoot on the rug.  Mel felt almost physically drawn towards her.  She wanted to touch Cov in the worst way.  And she could not remember why she should not if ever a real reason had presented itself.  She merely had to find out if it went both ways. 

            "Would you dance with me, Cov?" Mel asked.  Her own voice sounded casual and confident in her ears. _My goodness, you are comfortable with Cov_ , she thought to herself, as she watched Cov look up with an expression of unveiled surprise.

            It actually took Cov a moment to respond, and Mel just had time to feel a flicker of nervousness before Cov came over.  Mel noticed, as Cov settled in close to her and they both turned to watch their hands one side meet and their fingers entwine, that Cov did not answer the question in words.  This made Mel swallow hard, and she felt as if her heart gave a small tremble.

            Cov brought her other hand around Mel, placing it in the small of her back. Mel draped her free arm over Cov's shoulder.  Cov looked down and held a shy sort of grin, as she led them into pattern of steps that were easy and informal.   The lightness came back to the room and between them.  They shared a few words, about the song.  They looked at one another easily again, growing comfortable once more.  Then they seemed to grow heavy, slowly.  A silence came over them both that felt as if it spoke. 

            Mel brought her arm down from Cov's shoulder.  She reached around to touch Cov's back.  She drew Cov's body in close to her own. Cov stepped in to her readily. Mel felt the shape of her, remarkably vivid and solid it seemed, through the thick silk of the shirt. She did not worry to hide her intention as she shifted her hand up, bit by bit, to feel the shape and contour of Cov's back more fully.  Cov seemed to grow very heavy at this, and Mel's heart beat, in some measure because she could not read Cov's feelings. 

            Then Cov turned her face in towards Mel.  Her breath touched Mel's neck where it met her shoulder. This slight turn communicated everything Mel needed to know about what was happening in Cov's inner world. She grew easier in Cov's arms. For a while, she did not think of anything.  A dialogue had been set up between their bodies, Mel realized.  They were moving together now without any attempt. She swallowed at the thought of how easy it was, at what this might indicate.  She felt vividly aware of how close their mouths were to each other.  She imagined what could exist between them and felt her lips almost burning with desire. She swallowed, feeling her pulse increase. 

            She'd grown fully nervous before she had the thought of whether or not she should turn her head that last few inches and share a kiss with Cov. Something caught her, and she struggled to decipher what held her back.  Was it fear?  She worried, even in the moment, about her own frailty.  Then she realized, it wasn't fear but anticipation that had made her heart beat.  And it wasn't fear that held her back.  It was resolve.  Mel did not want their first kiss to happen when they were this drunk.  Realizing this, the muscles in her chest relaxed. Her body shifted. She stood stronger.

            Covington seemed fully aware of the conflict going on in Mel and to either understand or share her same decision.  They kept their mouths just as near and seemed to grow more comfortable in the embrace. Covington had let her hand glide down from Mel's shoulder across her back, then over her spine.  Mel drew at Cov's waist to allow their hips to press together.  They danced for what felt a long time, though Mel could not be sure that more than a handful of songs actually played.  Time seemed to slow with their movements, a luxurious cloth, embracing them. 

            Whatever spell had been woven between them did not break when shifted away from the dance and went to bed.  When Cov sat on the bed, Mel moved over and undid Cov's braid.  She ran her hands through Cov's hair, seeing it down and touching it for the first time, though it felt, somehow, familiar. They kept their arms about each other until the last moment, when finally they shifted away from one another and into sleep. 

**  
**


	5. Chapter Five

            _I'm not drunk now_ , was the first thought Mel had when she woke up, along with the thought of kissing Cov. _You eager bastard_ , she thought half in chastisement and half in amazement at herself.  She glanced over at Cov, asleep with her arm thrown over her eyes.  Her chest filled with the familiar sight.  Cov was beautiful.  _Like my granddaddy_ , Mel thought, and this time she had to smile at her own comparison in the midst of her growing interest in Cov as a rather sexual being.  Love worked in mysterious ways, she figured, as she got up out of bed, keeping her movements gentle.  Cov shifted over onto her side but did not wake fully.

            Mel gathered her things and went into the bathroom.  Her thoughts seemed bleary and a bit distorted. She always had trouble waking up. She felt a bit uneasy about dancing with Cov.  Worried thoughts were coursing through her head about whether she had taken advantage of Cov. She was not, however, confused enough to think that was possible.  So she was confused by her own feelings instead.  She had a bit of hangover, she thought, which might be adding to it.

            When she stepped out, Mel glanced somewhat nervously at Cov, wondering at the fact that she remained in bed.  She'd turned over onto her side and curled up a bit.  Her arm was hiding her face.  She never even twitched when Mel came out. Mel headed for her bag, preparing to dig some clothes out.  

            "If I wake up," Covington said, lying completely still, "Is last night gonna be a dream or worse, a drunken confusion?  Is Mel still gonna look straight at me?" Her voice came from under her arm, still draped over her eyes.  She lay completely still. 

            Mel smiled to herself and came and sat on the bed, leaning over a little into the curve of Cov's stomach.  Cov shifted and peaked up from under her arm to see Mel smiling. Cov shifted up onto her elbows, letting out an enormous breath and with it a lot of tension.  She'd been genuinely worried, Mel realized, even if she knew enough to make light of it.  Mel touched her shoulder.  Mel was still smiling softly, but she was unsure what to say. 

            "Sorry," Cov said, "I'm not much good morning afters." Mel cracked up at this, making Cov smile.

            "Isn't this more a morning before?" she said.  They both looked at one another a moment. _I just propositioned Cov_ , Mel thought.  She felt wildly unapologetic.  Mel could not bring herself to feel shy of her own forwardness. Somehow it seemed right with Cov, like it couldn't be any other way.

            Cov had a sharp, contemplating look that broke out into a grin. A new nuance was added to it, and Mel couldn't help but be overcome by her feelings for her friend. She wanted to wrestle her to the ground, but settled for tugging her into an unabashed hug, a bit rough, which brought out a rough hug and a delighted laugh from Cov, and let her go soon after.

            "A pancake breakfast is in order, regardless of the happenings of the day," Mel said with a cocked eyebrow. 

            "Yeah!" Cov managed to stretch the word through her entire fluid movement of throwing back the covers and getting out of bed.  She grabbed her towel of the chair and made to head for the bathroom.  She leaned in, quite suddenly.  With extreme precision, she gave Mel the lightest kiss on the neck.  She'd retreated by the time Mel could feel herself blush vividly. 

            "You dance nice, fancy lady," Cov said, gently.  

            "Don't call me that in bed," Mel said. 

            "Yes, ma'am," Cov said, as she dodged into the bathroom.

            "Don't call me that either!" Mel called after.  A laugh echoed out from the small room.

            Mel stood smiling a moment as she heard the water turn on. She turned to get her things together and had to give herself a bit of a shake to focus.  Her body was full of energy.  Her neck still burned from just that lightest touch of Cov's lips.  Last night had been the same, almost overwhelming, their nearness heavy with feeling and promise. Mel swallowed again hard, only a tiny fragment of her most rational self telling her not to get too excited. She didn't know how compatible she and Cov would be as lovers.  It could be a disappointment if she pictured it being too perfect. Most of her however, sneezed in the face of shallow reason.  She felt she knew what it would be like.  It was beyond exciting.   

            Cov tucked her arm around Mel's waist as they walked down the sidewalk. The gesture was filled with ease, same as any other day.  Surprised, Mel found that she liked it, and touched her hand to Cov's back, letting them walk this way until they parted naturally.  Somehow, Cov's touch never felt possessive.  She thought back to how she had touched Rick, and almost laughed at herself as she stirred up wisps of her own jealousy. It really should be excitement now, she thought to herself. 

            They spent a long morning at the Dutch pancake house.  They then spent the day walking along the river, ducking into shops, eating street food.  They gathered together dinner rations and made it an early day.

            Mel was almost shivering as Cov held open the gate to the hotel courtyard, despite it not being cold.  She got more comfortable in their familiar room, as they tore open their bread and drank wine and Cov cut apart fresh figs and oranges, while Mel unwrapped papers holding cheese and cuts of cured meat. 

            "To eating more and drinking less this year," Cov toasted Mel, who laughed. 

            For a while, they grew so easy with each other, the charge seemed to fade out, and Mel wondered if they really would become lovers tonight. A rain storm kicked up, and Cov closed the windows.  The muted sun set, and Mel clicked on their lamps.  Cov turned on the radio a while.  They finished their wine and made conversation same as any night.

            They were both lounging on their bed, which Cov had made somewhat carelessly that morning.   A moment came when Mel looked over at Cov, who was smiling.  The smile was soft, and her body was easy, propped against the pillows.  At once, it was like the mood of the night before came tumbling out, suffusing Mel's body with heat and weight again.  Cov responded, watching Mel's expression.  Her eyes grew sharp and the smile faded from her face. 

            Mel leaned over, her elbow sinking into the pillow, shifting Cov just slightly towards her.  She leaned in close and let her lips brush past Cov's.  Then they kissed. 

            Kissing Cov was, even compared to Mel's most fantastical thoughts, substantially better.  Her whole body seemed swept up in it.  As they moved to kiss again, Mel felt almost drunk.  They kissed a handful of times, and Mel had quite lost her sense of the room and of time passing.  Their lips parted, and she turned her face away and drew in her breath, which she found she had lost. 

            "Lord," she said softly.  As she did, Covington shifted over, brought a hand to Mel's face, and drew her into a much deeper kiss. How long they stayed like this Mel could not begin to guess, but they both noticed finally that the position had become difficult to hold. 

            They moved together, gracefully, to bring Mel down into the pillow and Cov over her.  Cov continued to lead their kisses.  She parted Mel's lips.  She ran her tongue over each of them, softly, before touching Mel's tongue with her own. Their kissing became a sort of dance after this.  They were matched so well, it never warranted a thought. 

            They kissed for what Mel felt might have been hours, though she could not begin to say. Mel had unbuttoned Cov's shirt, without Cov noticing.  When Mel pressed her hand in to touch the skin of Cov's chest, Cov was unprepared and drew her breath in so deeply, she had to break a moment from their kissing.  She practically swayed against the feel of that first touch, as Mel's cool hand moved over the hot skin of her body.  She felt Mel's lips wanting to grin as they kissed.

            Cov moved herself, barely disrupting their kissing, so that Mel could push the shirt off her arms.  Mel tugged it at first quite hard, hinting at her desire.  Then she brought her hands up to Cov's shoulders and pressed them into her sleeves.  She slid her hands down the length of Cov's arms, as she slipped the fabric off. She tossed it on the floor. Covington felt the hair stand up on her arms and her whole body tremble, as Mel did this.  She leaned down into Mel for a moment to gain composure. Mel's hands trailed up her sides, very light, trying not to overwhelm Cov, then came around her shoulders and neck to pull her closer. 

            Cov turned back to their kissing, feeling her own heart as her chest touched Mel, beating hard.  She began to undo the buttons on Mel's shirt and felt Mel's hands as they came around to help her.  She nudged her lips into Mel's throat, urging her to expose it.  As she kissed her way down, she opened the shirt and continued on, kissing high on her chest, over her collarbones.  She lifted Mel just slightly off the bed and rolled the sleeves back behind her shoulders.  Mel gave the slightest sound as Cov pulled her up off the bed.  Cov felt a flash of heat course through her, as if the sound were a spark that had ignited a flame. 

            Covington's entire focus changed.  She leaned up, onto her knees, and pulled Mel with her, in one fluid motion. She reached behind Mel and carefully undid her hair.  Then she slipped off Mel's shirt.  She tipped her head back, holding Mel's jaw with her fingertips, and kissed her deeply. She let her fingers slide across Mel's throat to run through her hair.  Mel leaned back on her arms, eyes closed, having lost herself in what was happening. 

            Cov drew back to look at her face a moment, and their eyes met. She smiled.  She kissed Mel again and drew her forward. She lifted Mel's arms over her own shoulders, then slipped the thin, pearl undershirt Mel wore up over her body. Mel's arms straightened above her head, as Cov flicked the shirt up past her fingertips.  Mel brought her hands down to Cov's face, pulling her close, then to her back, pulling her in harder.  Cov gave a sound, deep her chest.  Mel thought it almost a growl.  Mel grinned at Cov, catching the look in her face. Cov smiled with her.

            "This is something," Mel said softly. 

            "It's not nothing," Cov said. 

            They kissed a bit softer as Cov unhooked the back of Mel's bra. She drew it down her arms slowly, sitting back a little as Mel's arms straightened.  Cov's hands found Mel's, and she drew Mel arms to her sides. Cov's eyes still held Mel's, who followed Cov's lead, though she felt for a moment terribly shy. Cov looked down at Mel's chest only a moment, as she moved in to kiss her again. 

            She pressed into Mel, lowering her into the pillow.  She landed higher this time, the pillow propping her up. Cov reached to undo her skirt and pulled it off.  She moved slowly, as she undid the clasps and removed Mel's stockings, then drew the very last of her clothing away. Her eyes rested on Mel's legs, and she seemed completely absorbed by the sight. She reached out to touch them for the first time. Cov's hands, as they moved over Mel's legs, painted them with a heat most vivid. Desire flooded her body rising upward from Cov's hands as they touched her legs. She strained and moved herself higher on the pillows. Cov looked up again and caught her eye. 

            Cov reached behind Mel to the pillow.  Mel leaned forward, as Cov adjusted it, so she could lay back. Cov's hand grazed her legs again, and, not knowing what would happen next, Mel felt herself begin to tremble.  Instead of moving her hand between them, Cov drew Mel's legs together and pulled both towards herself as she came up alongside Mel. She shifted overtop of her.  Mel still felt a bit abashed at being naked.  She wanted to see Cov, as well. 

            Mel felt for the delicate hooks of Cov's bra, and Cov waited as she worked them free.  She leaned back to let Mel draw it off her.  Cov leaned into one arm, letting Mel look over her freely.  Mel saw her swallow as she reached and brought Mel's hand to her own chest just over her heart.  Mel felt the heat of Cov's skin again, her collarbone under her fingertips. She brought her other hand to Cov's chest.  Cov closed her eyes and grew heavy, allowing Mel to see her desire and unashamed.  This had a remarkable affect on Mel.  Cov let out a shaky breath and shivered against the feel of Mel's hands. Cov gripped the bar of the headboard and moaned and her backed bent, unwillingly, as Mel's hands slid down over her breasts. 

            Cov let go the bed frame and her arm came back down the bed, taking her weight. She sank into Mel's hands.  They kissed again, as Cov grew more accustomed to Mel's touch. After a while, she came so low, Mel's hands were caught between their chests.  Mel felt Cov's chest had begun, lightly, to shudder. When she lifted, Mel slid her hands around to touch Cov's back. Feeling the skin of Cov's back now, Mel remembered how it felt when they danced the night before. Mel let herself touch each part, from Cov's shoulders down to the small of her back, feeling the gentle flutter of her muscles and how their shape changed when Cov moved against Mel.

            Cov kissed Mel's throat, her back dipping low, weight on her arm. She reached to entwine the fingers of one hand with Mel's own, a moment.  She kissed along her collarbones, then the top of her chest.  She moved lower in the bed and brought her hands in to hold Mel's sides.  Mel closed her eyes and almost lost herself, as the press of this moment seemed to overwhelm her.  Cov was going to kiss her breasts, and Mel felt trapped somewhere between maddening desire and a burning timidity.  Cov kissed the middle of her chest, pulling her up slightly from the bed and arching her back.  She rush of air that came into Mel's body at this made the sensations in her body grow more vivid, and she felt her body tremble.  Cov's hands held her tight, as if to brace her. She buried her hands in Cov's hair, as Cov turned her face from one side to the other, against Mel's skin.  Cov's hands came to Mel's breasts, then her mouth trailed over, and Mel's whole body arched, drawing her a slightly onto her side towards Cov, as the feel of this overwhelming her.  The heat of her pleasure was almost a pain in Mel now. She held Cov hard, unaware a moment of whether she grew too rough.  Her body trembled almost violently.   

            "Oooh," Mel moaned, the sound almost frail.  Cov turned her face up to look at Mel. 

            "Is it too much?" Cov asked. 

            "No," Mel said, unsure herself.  Cov could tell.  She looked at her a moment longer, then came up to kiss her.  Her hands came up to hold Mel's face, then she intertwined the fingers of one hand with Mel's again and gripped tight. 

            Cov was in no hurry, Mel realized, as she kissed her, over and over again. She'd never had a lover like this before.  Everything was different.  The intensity of each touch, each sound, of her own feeling, and they way they read each other so easily – Mel felt she'd been drawn out into the ocean at night, engulfed by something that was beyond herself, utterly. 

            Cov turned to kiss the palm of Mel's hand and watched as she ran her thumb over it and down her wrist.  She pressed Mel's hand to her own throat and looked back to Mel's face. She pushed Mel's hair aside with her fingertips.  Cov smiled softly at Mel as she looked at Mel, which made Mel's heart flare up.  Gaining more of her ability to think, Mel studied Cov in this moment.  She could feel her excitement, but Cov's body was easy. She leaned into one arm, quiet casual, looking over Mel like it were any other day, any other moment between them.  Mel shifted a bit in the bed, coming back to herself.  Cov grinned at her again, terribly charming.  Mel felt her own throat choke with feeling, and she took in this moment between them.  _You're letting her lead_ , she realized, _when you could have anything you want_. 

            _So what do you want, Mel?_ her mind asked.  Mel wetted her lips. She glanced over Cov, thinking this over.  Cov watched her, curious and unsure what she was thinking, Mel could tell.  Mel brought her hands to Cov's collarbones again, slowly.  She watched Cov's expression change, growing heavier, until at last Cov looked at her mouth, wanting to come down to kiss again.  She glanced up into Mel's eyes first, and Mel drew her down.

            Her hands on Cov's back again, Mel suddenly wanted her naked. She pressed Cov's shoulder, a bit sudden.  Cov caught on at once. She snatched Mel's hand and drew her with her as she shifted over to lay on her back.  Mel reached to unbuckle Cov's pants and found her hands too eager to succeed.  They were met by Cov's, who leaned up dramatically to kiss her as she undid them.

            Then Cov lay back.  Mel moved to pull off her pants.  Cov watched with a sort of hint of a smile on her face, as Mel reached to remove the last of her clothes.  Mel drew them off and glanced over Cov's body.  Cov was not ashamed, Mel could see.  So she leaned up, placing her weight on one arm and leaning over Cov's body, and let herself really look, as she pushed her hair out of the way. 

            A long, silent stillness passed as Mel's eyes made their way over Cov's body.  She reached a hand, which she felt tremble, to rest on Cov's stomach.  Cov caught it.  Mel looked up at her face.  And Cov tugged at her hand, as she urged Mel to come over her.

            A strange sort of boldness came over Mel.  She drew herself over Cov, intentionally letting her thigh slip between Cov's leg.  She pressed into the length of her and bent her knee to press her thigh against Cov's body. Cov gasped at this, bending forward a bit, and held Mel's shoulders.  She lay back on purpose, her head landing between the pillows. Cov waited, looking up at Mel. Mel drew her own hair around to one side and leaned in to kiss Cov again, their kisses growing deeper this time.

            She brought a hand to Cov's breast.  She touched one, then the other, feeling Cov's body shake and drawing small sounds up from her throat that made Mel grin.  When both Cov's nipples were hot and grown larger, Mel bent down and took one between her lips.  Cov's head pressed back into the bed, and she gave an involuntary cry as Mel pressed against her chest. Mel let go of one and moved to the other. 

            She could tell from the way Cov held her and the way Cov's body could not resist pressing against her own that she was driving Cov half out of her mind. She impulsively ran her nails over Cov's sides, down her thighs, the response so dramatic, Cov pressed hard into Mel as her body lifted up off the bed and went tight.  She grasped at Mel.  When she lay back, Mel reached at once between her legs.  Cov's eyes closed and her lips parted.  She grew absolutely still, as Mel opened her with gentle strokes of her fingers, studying the precise shape of Cov's body. Mel felt her own skin burn, but whatever part of her felt shy or abashed could not compare to all that she felt now. She pressed her fingers into Cov, and Cov cried out and shook. 

            "God, Mel," she said, almost pleading as her head pressed back into the mattress _.  Be a little more careful with her_ , Mel thought gently to herself. She leaned in and kissed Cov's throat in a gentle trail, then kissed her lips a few times. She slid her fingers in and out, slowly.  Mel came back to watch Cov again. Cov tipped her head forward to look down at what was happening.  Then she looked back into Mel's face. She closed her eyes part of the time.  Her body started to move subtly with the rhythm of Mel's hand.  Mel leaned in to kiss her once more. 

            They continued on like this for some time.  Mel kept her mouth on Cov's.  She curled her fingers a bit to press harder against the soft place in Cov's body.  Cov broke their kiss to cry out. Mel kissed her hard, holding the back of the neck and pulling her forward. She could hear the sounds of Cov's pleasure in her throat.  When Cov was trembling, Mel finally released Cov from their kiss and brought her fingers out and ran them in circles with a gentle pressure over the heart of Cov's desire.

            It took only moments for Cov to rise up into a climax.  Mel drew back a bit when she did, focused sharply. She wanted to remember this moment. She watched Cov's face and felt her break out in waves of pleasure that first time.  Mel closed her eyes when she finished, tipping her face forward to rest against Cov's chest, replaying the image already in her mind, seeing Cov's lips parted, hearing the sound of her voice as cried out.

            After a while, Cov shifted, and pulled at her, and Mel came up to lie beside her on the bed.  The embraced each other, carefully Mel thought, their hands touching one another gently, and lay resting for a while.  Mel's entire body felt relaxed and a little spent, as if some heightened pleasure, almost torturous, had been released in her, as well.

            When their energy had settled, Mel began again to kiss Cov.  Cov drew her arms about Mel, who relaxed into them easily now.  They kissed a long time, and Cov ran her hand down Mel's side, then down her back. After a long time, she urged Mel over onto her back and came slightly over her. 

            Cov moved up onto one elbow.  She glanced down the length of Mel.  Cov ran her hand over Mel's body and followed it with her eyes, down the line of her.  She was completely focused and silent as she did.  She looked over Mel like she were something precious. Cov felt her sacred, her touch seemed to convey.  Mel's heart felt so full, it ached in her chest, filled with longing.  Cov looked back up at Mel and smiled.

            "You're so beautiful, Mel," Cov said.  Her tone was light. 

            The words seemed aimed inward towards herself, towards Cov, and not at Mel. Cov reached to lightly touch Mel's lips. Mel felt a rush of delight at this compliment, the same one that had bothered her when it came from other lovers. Cov smiled, again, and Mel couldn't help but smile back at Cov.  So light, she thought.  All her other lovers had been so serious.  Cov was just the same in bed as anywhere else they'd been.  Nothing had changed in how she treated Mel.  Nor would it. 

            Surprising Mel, Cov slid her hand down between Mel's thighs and pressed lightly up against her body. Mel groaned, unwillingly, and felt a jolt of pleasure spring up through her.  Cov looked at her, searching Mel's face, her hand still a moment, before she drew it away to rest on Mel's hip.  She looked at Mel, waiting for some sign from her.    

            Mel felt desire tumble out into her body again.  Cov read it at once in her look, and she already leaned in as Mel drew her down into another kiss.  Mel pulled Cov over her more fully.  They kissed again for a long while, and this time, when Cov's hands came to touch Mel's breasts, the pleasure seemed to sink into her, running down to her spine, reaching between her thighs.  She felt it almost as vivid as she'd felt Cov touching there before.  She pressed her thighs together and rubbed them against one another, which made Cov lean back a bit to see and give a soft grin.

            Cov kissed now Mel's breasts, very gently at the start.  And Mel sank into it, into the bed, into herself, and into the feel of Cov's body in every place it met her own.  She was open, she felt, and easily receptive to Cov's touch. No one had ever stayed this long on her breasts before, and Mel was startled to feel how dramatic the pleasure became.  Cov's hands moved all over her. Her palms ran over Mel's sides, and she felt the breath moving under her own ribs. Her fingers pressed into Mel's thighs and ran down, and Mel felt desire spring up from them and course through her body. Cov looked at her closely and worked her body like a master of her craft, until Mel felt almost shy at how easily Cov could make her respond.  Cov leaned back to look down the length of her body.

            Cov bit at her bottom lip slightly, giving Mel the slightest cue, then she slipped her hand between Mel's legs, once more.  Mel caught, embarrassed a moment and wishing it were not so. Her face turned away, instinctively, but she looked back into Cov's face as Cov tried to read her own expression.  As she slid her fingers gently over Mel, finding out the secrets of her body, Mel gasped with pleasure it caused her.  Cov smiled at bit, watching Mel's face.  Mel held Cov's shoulder and felt her own skin flush, as she pushed at the burning shyness she felt and urged herself to open up her legs for Cov. Cov reached and led her thighs with one hand, helping to settle her hips into a comfortable position.  Then Cov looked back at her face and gave the sweetest grin. 

            Mel pulled her down into a set of slow, heavy kisses.  They matched with the movement of Cov's hand, as she slid her fingers over Mel again and again with a steady, even pressure. Mel's breath broke at first, then she grew used to the pleasure this caused as it licked up her body, coursing through her in waves like flame. Cov's tongue rubbed against her own, and Mel felt almost dizzy. Mel heard herself begin to moan softly before she felt the sound in her chest. 

            Mel broke their kiss and shifted into Cov's shoulder, as Cov coaxed her open. Cov held Mel close and kissed along the line of her shoulder, as she slipped her fingers inside Mel for the first time.  Cov moved her fingers so slowly, feeling Mel's body grasp and flutter, careful to make it good.

            "How does that feel?" Cov said.  Her voice was very soft, almost whispered, near Mel's ear. Mel wanted to answer, but she could feel that she was too shy.  So she reached to draw Cov's face to her own and kissed her deeply. Cov understood her meaning, and they pulled against each other, as if they could draw one another even closer. 

            After a few more strokes, as Cov pressed in, Mel moaned.  Mel felt embarrassed by her own sounds of pleasure at first, and brought her hand to Cov's throat, as if to brace herself. Cov held onto her. She began to kiss Mel without hesitation now and would break away to kiss her throat or her breasts and come back to her lips.  Cov's instincts were stunning.  Already, she was learning to read Mel's body and taking the slightest cues from how she held herself.

            They had built up slowly, until Mel felt Cov's hand moving freely, as she drew up moan after moan from Mel.  She knew Cov leaned back a few times to look over her.  Her own eyes were mostly held closed. Mel couldn't feel embarrassed now, couldn't feel anything except pleasure.  It was hard to feel Cov's touch distinctly, save when she kissed her mouth.  It seemed to find every part of her.  She started to build up into a climax, which rose so quickly, it made her shake. It broke free, and she came down quickly again. 

            Cov shifted over her, at once, and kissed her with a chain of deep and heavy kisses. She waited for Mel's body to release and began to move inside her again.  Mel lost herself to Cov's touch, almost delirious with the feel of it. Cov held her hard and pressed down into her, as she worked her way over Mel's body.  It took much more pleasure for her body to allow a climax this second time, and Mel wondered how they could go on, the two of them. Cov's touch had grown practically rough. Their kissing was almost wild, and Cov squeezed Mel's wrist and held her arm over her head pressed it to the bed. Mel pushed freely against Cov, allowing her body to respond however it wanted. Even in her passion, Mel marveled that they could remain coordinated and not hurt each other despite how full of abandon they'd grown.

            She felt herself building then to a climax unlike the one she'd felt before. This seemed to draw up from deep inside, almost fearful in how heavy it seemed as it came close to the point of release inside her.  She lay back and just held onto Cov, willing herself to let Cov take her there.  Mel's lips were parted, her eyes closed, and she knew Cov watched her face when she came. She knew she screamed, but she could not hear it.  What she did hear was Cov, who leaned in and pressed her face into Mel's neck, her mouth held close to Mel's ear, as she moaned herself in response. 

            The world started to come back into place around her.  Mel felt their bodies, still gripping tight to one another.  She had one arm across Cov's shoulders and a hand on the back of her neck.  She put both arms around her, as she felt them start to relax.  Cov sank down into Mel, as Mel held her against her.  Her body still felt light to Mel, as she kept her weight propped on her elbows.

            After a long while, Cov moved away and led them into a comfortable position, fixing the pillow and drawing Mel near, so they could kiss.  They settled down into the bed, growing weak with exhaustion as the elation that carried them drifted down.  They lay awake a long time, holding hands and kissing softly before, finally, they fell asleep. 

 

            Mel awoke to the presence of bright sunlight on her face.  She knew it was late. Only half Mel's leg was covered in a sheet, and she had a prolonged moment of wondering why she was naked before she pulled together enough threads of thought to get the answer.  She turned her head to see Cov, asleep on her stomach, head under a pillow that hung off the edge of the bed, along with her arm. She lay there a moment, thinking through the events of the night before.  Her whole body felt shaky and a current ran through it still that felt like the untamed electricity of a lightening storm.  She swallowed hard, and she could feel that she was thirsty.  And that her lips were sensitive, a bit swollen and rough from being against Cov's for so long. 

            She was afraid to move, she finally realized, afraid to wake up Cov. And she was afraid to wake up herself she had to admit.  Her feelings seemed to have become wild and unruly as she slept.  She could not manage to have a sane thought. Perhaps this was it. Today, she would begin to part ways with Cov.  Their time together would be over, though it might take any length of time to end. Perhaps this was only the beginning.  Her thoughts struggled to find some sense..  They might be making love every night for years on.  She swallowed hard.  Her emotions and her body seemed overwhelmed, unable to process. 

            She could not decipher whether she was elated or panicked. It seemed like something of both. She was tired. She got that one thread pulled out from the others.  It must have been four in the morning before they fell asleep together.  Who knew it would take them hours when they started? They would have to start earlier next time, if they decided to do this again.  Mel continued to lay there a while, processing.

            Cov woke up and rolled over, sitting up in the bed.  Mel closed her eyes a moment, then opened them to see Cov staring at the bright window.  Cov looked over at her, bleary-eyed, hair a mess.  Mel could see scratches on her shoulder in the sunlight, which made them stand out vividly, along with the scars on Cov's skin. Cov glanced around the bed, with the sheets tangled and the covers lost on the floor.  She blinked in the flood of sunlight and looked stunned.

            Mel had just realized, and thus become daunted by the fact, that she ought to try and find something to say.  She never got there, because Cov spoke. 

            "We have _got_ to do that again," Cov said and reached to rub roughly at her face, as if rousing herself more awake.  She turned her head sharply towards Mel when she finished and gave a playful smile that was remarkably soft around her eyes.  Mel was silent a moment, thinking of what to say. Then she felt herself burst out in laughter.  Cov laughed, too, then lurched heavily over onto her side to crawl over and reach Mel. She kissed Mel's face, soft, but not shy.

            "You can say that again," Mel said, as she turned and tried to release her smile so she might kiss Cov's lips.   

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing from people, so if you're up for leaving a comment or a kudos please do!


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